


Ka Lala Kaukonakona Haki' Ole I Ka Pa A Ka Makani Kona

by GenevieveOHara



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Afghanistan, Angst, Broken Bones, Caring, Coda, Episode: s08e24 Ka Lala Kaukonakona Haki 'Ole I Ka Pa A Ka Makani Kona, F/M, Family, Flashbacks, Friendship, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Hurt Steve McGarrett, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Military, Pain, Post-Episode: s08e24 Ka Lala Kaukonakona Haki 'Ole I Ka Pa A Ka Makani Kona, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Slash, Pre-Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams, Romance, Sick Steve McGarrett, Sickfic, Steve McGarrett & Danny "Danno" Williams Friendship, U.S. Navy SEALs, Veterans, Whump, can be slash if you want it to be, protective joe white
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-03-26
Packaged: 2019-11-06 10:59:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenevieveOHara/pseuds/GenevieveOHara
Summary: Filling in the gaps of Season 8 Episode 24.  A detailed flashback of Steve and Joe's time in Afghanistan in 2002; including his first date with Catherine and the time he spent with his father.





	1. Chapter 1

Steve sat in his normal adirondack chair on the beach.  Danny sat in ‘his’ chair and both men sipped on their longboards with Eddie at their feet.  Junior had just moved out into his new apartment Steve had helped him find, and Danny had been spending more and more time at Steve’s place.

 

Steve didn’t mind the company.  After Catherine had left and he broke it off with Lynn he had be lonely.  When Chin and Kono went to the mainland, Steve felt like half of his family had gone too.

 

“Hey, I was wondering something,” Danny asked.

 

“Yeah?”  Steve asked, turning his toward his best friend.

 

“How did you even end up with Catherine?”  Danny asked.

 

“What do you mean?” Steve asked indignantly.  Why was Danny even asking?

 

“You have no game,” Danny said.

 

“I have game!  I have plenty of game!”  Steve argued.

 

“No,”  Danny corrected.  “You have plenty of problems.”

 

“I?  I have problems?” Steve protested.

 

“Yes!  You have problems!”  Danny ranted. “You have many, many, problems!  You heard your father get murdered. You constantly get us into life threatening situations.  You’ve been tortured, not once, but twice since I’ve known you. You have half MY liver. Your long-time girlfriend who, may I add, you were going to propose to left you for your mother.  Who lied to you multiple times since you figured out she faked her death when you were fifteen!” 

 

“Okay,” Steve said.  “Okay! I get it”

 

“Good,” Danny said.  “So, Catherine?”

 

“Why do you want to know?”  Steve asked.

 

“You haven’t been on a date in a while, so I wanted to know how you started dating Catherine…” Danny said.  

 

“Look, I don’t want your help finding someone to date,” Steve told Danny.

 

“Steve,” Danny started.

 

“No.  You know what?  Fine. I’ll tell you,” Steve cut Danny off hoping Danny would give up on setting Steve up on a blind date or whatever his partner was trying to do.

 

“I met Catherine at the Naval Academy.  We were friends,” Steve remembered. “We both spent time in intelligence, but I went off to BUD/S and we didn’t get to talk much after that.”

 

“Uh-huh,” Danny said.

 

“Are you going to let me talk or not?” Steve asked his partner.

 

“I am.  Go on, babe,” Danny smiled.  Steve sighed.

 

“When I got my trident I spent a lot of time deployed.  We would meet up if we were ever docked at the same place, but it wasn’t until 2002 that I asked her out,” Steve continued. 

‘God had it been that long ago?’ He thought to himself.  He remembered the mission that had brought him to Catherine clearly.

  
  


Bagram Airfield- Parwan Province, Afghanistan

19 February, 2002: 0700 

 

It was snowing again.  The cold flakes landed on his exposed cheeks as he walked between the cinder block structures of the base.  Steve looked back to the first time he had seen snow. It was the end of his first semester at the Naval Academy in Annapolis.  That was the first winter break he had spent without family, but not the last. Steve had been in awe of the snow, but he hadn’t liked it very much.  The warm, humid weather of Hawaii was something he learnt to never take for granted.

 

The night before he had been given orders to meet his CO alone at 0730.  It was his first time in the two years he had been a SEAL that he was getting called to a briefing without the rest of his team.  His curiosity was eating away at him. He hadn’t heard of a SEAL taking on a mission without at least half of his team before.

  
  


“Sir,” Steve saluted his commanding officer.

 

“At ease, Ensign McGarrett, come on in,” Lieutenant Commander Pope, his current commanding officer, greeted Steve outside a makeshift conference room.  Steve was more than shocked to see his father’s friend, and his old mentor, Lieutenant Commander Joe White surveying a set of maps. Steve proudly saluted Joe and smiled at the man.

 

“Lieutenant Commander White has requested your assistance on a reconnaissance mission in the Shah-i-Kot Valley,” Pope said.

 

“We’ve received word of Taliban movement in the area.  We need to find out locations and numbers of the militants before our join coalition with the Afghan troops enters the region next month,” Joe said.

 

“Sir, when are we looking at?”

 

“A week.  Maybe more depending on the weather at the drop zone,”  Lieutenant Commander Pope said. “We’re looking at a night HALO jump with an extraction across the valley two days later.”

 

“McGarrett,”  Joe said formally, “It’s of utmost importance that this mission stays top secret in order to keep Operation Anaconda secret as well.  Your CO knows, but your team thinks you’ve been recalled to Naval Intelligence for the next two weeks to close an investigation of child soldiers being recruited from Syria.”

 

“Understood, sir,” McGarrett said curtly.  His stomach dropped at the thought of having to lie to his teammates and fellow SEALs.

 

“Good.  Now, we have our HALO scheduled for 0100 on the 25th, but I want to do a mock infiltration at midnight on the 23rd,” Joe said.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve said.

 

“So, we’re looking at landing here,” Joe pointed to the narrow patch of flat land at the north end of the valley.  We’re going to be heading to the south end of the valley over the next two days. Our extraction point is here,” Joe said pointing to a peak on the map.

 

“As of right now, we have you walking through the valley, but it’s up to Lieutenant Commander to assess the situation and revert to the western hills,” Pope told him.

 

“Do we have any satellite images?”

 

“Yes, but the terrain makes it difficult to estimate threats.  There’s a lot of brush and a lot of caves that could be hiding small encampments of Al-Qaeda or Taliban militants,” Joe told him.

 

“Do we have an estimate?”

 

“Intel thinks there is about 450 militants, most are camped closer to the south end of the pass,” Pope said pointing out a few circled areas where small camps could be seen,” Joe told him.

 

“Ok,” Steve said.  He knew this mission was very straight forward.  A high altitude low opening drop followed by surveillance over the seven mile journey Joe had pathed out for them.  A helo extraction would bring them back to the base where they would report their intel.

 

“I’ll leave you and Commander White to discuss your plans for the practice jump and the op,”  Lieutenant Commander Pope said and left the room.

 

“So, Steve, you think you’re ready for this?” Joe asked him once Pope was gone.  

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve responded.

 

“Good.  I wouldn’t have chosen you if I didn’t think you were ready for this,” Joe told him.  “I was very impressed by your actions in Balochistan.”

 

Steve looked up at his mentor quickly.  The Balochistan mission was classified. Very classified.  How had Joe even known he was in Balochistan?

 

“Son, you don’t think I would find out about that?”  Joe asked him with a distinct smirk on his face.

 

“It was classified, sir,” Steve shrugged.

 

“Oh, like I don’t know people who would talk about it,” Joe said.  “Besides, I’m hoping we won’t need a repeat of that mission.”

 

Steve wholeheartedly agreed.  That mission went FUBAR quick.  He was still amazed that the casualties weren’t higher than they were.

 

“So, we’re looking at landing here.  Intel tells us that the area is clear of militants,” Joe started to explain the logistics of the mission.  “If it’s clear, we’re going to be making our way here…”

  
  


He and Joe had spent the past few days doing recon on the valley, changing their projected path through the valley, and preparing for the HALO jump.  By the time the practice jump came Steve felt ready for the actual mission. 

 

He and Joe boarded a plane just before midnight on the 23rd of February.  As they reached altitude they checked each other over and clipped in for the jump that would see them 35,000 feet above the land a few miles from the air base.  Their ‘mission’ was to perform the HALO jump, land safely, and trek back to the base.

 

“Steve, I’m going to go first,” Joe told him through their comms unit.  Steve gave him a thumbs up and prepared himself for the dangerous parachute down.  

 

A HALO jump was so difficult compared to a normal parachute jump, or HAHO jump, because the jumper didn’t deploy the parachute until they are about 2,000 feet from the ground.  This left very little time for the jumper to open the reserve chute if it’s needed. The speed at which the jumper deploys the chute can cause the jumper upper body injuries from the jolt of slowing down.  The cause for most injuries during this type of jump is the speed at which the jumper can hit the ground depending on the jump conditions, altitude, and the ability to slow the descent.

 

Steve, personally, had done dozens of HALO jumps all over the world on missions and hundreds of HALO and HAHO jumps during his training.  He was completely comfortable with the jump, but he still had a healthy fear of the jump that made him be hyper aware of his actions and his surroundings.

 

Steve saw the light above the jump door turn green and patted Joe’s shoulder.  He saw the man leap out the open plane door into the dark, cold air. Steve stepped up to the door, gloved hands gripping the cold metal of the open door.  Freezing air blasted his uncovered nose and cheeks. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and lept.

 

Steve glanced down at the dark, bumpy terrain and let the cold air peirce his skin as gravity pulled him down.  He counted out the seconds and pulled his wrist in front of his face. The numbers on his altimeter were spiraling down quickly.  

 

30486 feet

 

24619 feet

 

18991 feet

 

12105 feet

 

4334 feet

 

Steve let his wrist fall and reached up for his parachute pull.  He had about fifteen seconds until he had to pull the chord. He could see the white bloom of Joe’s shoot open to his left.  He positioned himself closer to Joe and tugged on the chord.

 

The white chute opened above his head and caught air.  The jolt of his harness tightening around his chest pulled his body vertical.  The straps cut into his skin and Steve heard the pops and cracks of his joints as his body was roughly slowed.  He let his body slow in the air and adjust to the changes before he raised both aching arms and guided his parachute to the ground.  He could briefly see Joe’s parachute wrinkle and disappear as Joe hit the ground the rolled his parachute into a ball. 

 

Steve straightened his parachute so it was parallel to the ground, bent his knees and felt his boots slam into the hard ground.  He let himself fall back and lie on the ground, but quickly jumped to his feet and secured his parachute into his pack.

 

“Sir?”  Steve called through his comm link.  “I’m about three hundred feet to your south.”

 

“Copy that.  I’ll meet you there, kid,” Joe responded.

 

“10-4.”

 

The walk back to the base was pretty easy compared to their actual walk through the valley.  The land was flatter and less covered than the valley due to the airbase. The area was under constant patrol by air and daily land patrols, so they didn’t have to worry too much about militant ambushes.

 

It was a cold, yet clear night.  The stars above were familiar, yet so different from the stars his father had taught him in their backyard when he was a child.  Maui’s hook was missing and in its place, puppis. Steve had missed home so much. He hadn’t been back in almost a decade and he hadn’t seen his father, sister or aunt since he graduated the Naval Academy nearly three years ago.

 

“Sir, I see a convoy approaching from the east… about 500 feet,” Steve said dropping to a knee.  Joe joined him and both raised their M4 assault rifles.

 

“It’s one of ours,”  Joe told him as the group of humvees drove about 100 feet south of them and continued to the airfield.

 

He and and Joe made their way back to the base around two in the morning.  The soldiers at the gate let them in and Joe and Steve made their way to the ‘conference room’ they had been preparing in.

 

“Steve, the jump went well.  Why don’t you sleep in and meet me at the mess hall for lunch,” Joe said.

 

“Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir,” Steve said.  He was sore, cold, and tired. Being allowed to sleep for an extra hour or two would make a big difference in how prepared his body was for the real jump.

 

“Yeah, yeah, kid.  Get some sleep and we’ll go over our path one more time today.  Tomorrow I want to focus on preparing our supplies,” Joe told him.

 

“Aye,” Steve told his mentor and saluted him.

 

“At ease, McGarrett,” Joe said and let Steve head back to the small cinder block room he had been given after leaving his team.  He had a thin-mattressed cot, a small desk with a linen folding chair, and his seabag.

 

Steve dumped his packs on the floor and walked down the cold halls to the head.  A three-minute shower later Steve was crawling into his uncomfortable bed. He pulled the scratchy green wool blanket up around his shoulder and was quickly asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a little drabble I've come up with because I'm bored. I think the storyline between Joe White and Steve in Afghanistan was great. I also think their relationship was a really wonderful thing. Season 9 was a rough one.  
> I hope you like it!-G

Steve dumped his packs on the floor and walked down the cold halls to the head. A three-minute shower later Steve was crawling into his uncomfortable bed. He pulled the scratchy green wool blanket up around his shoulder and was quickly asleep.

 

Steve found himself strapped into the airplane for the second time that week; however, this time his pack was heavier, their flight was longer, and their comms units were more lively. He checked his pack over again and secured his holsters again. He wouldn’t risk any equipment failures.

“We’re five minutes out,” Steve heard their pilot say through his ear piece. Steve unhooked his harness and clipped himself into the steel wire near the exit door. Joe clipped in just in front of him.

“Good luck, son,” Joe said once they had finished checking their packs and double checking the drop location with the pilot and base command.

“You too, sir,” Steve said back. “I’ll see you on the ground.”

“Hooyah!” Joe called back at Steve and jumped. Steve counted to ten in his head and followed his mentor out the jump door and into the harsh, cold skies above Shah i Kot Valley. He fell quickly, making sure to check his altimeter readings and to look for signs of Joe’s chute opening. Steve saw a brief flash of fabric opening.

He reached up, pulled the cord, and was jerked back by his own chute opening in the cold winter air. Not ten seconds later did he hear the barking sounds of soviet machine guns. Steve jerked on his lines and tried to force himself nearer to Joe.

Rat-a-tatta-tat…. Tat-a-tat… Rat-tat-thunk.

Burning pain coursed through his left shoulder. His arm dropped the cord and he started to drift. Agony sliced through his arm, chest, and shoulder as he lost altitude quickly. His brain was in a haze. Shock and pain blocking his thought process.

He didn’t even see the tall fir tree before it was too late. He couldn’t move his left arm back up and his parachute carried him directly into the upper branches of the fifty foot tree. He slammed into the branches and felt them scaping and slicing the exposed skin of his face and forearms. When he came to a stop, he was hanging limply from his harness, chute and cords twisted in the tree’s branches.

Tata-tat-tat… rata-tat… machine gun fire sounded off in the valley again. Steve heard a bullet whorl by his body and thunk into the trunk of the tree. He knew he had only one way out of this mess. It was a risk. At best, he would make it to the ground, bruised and battered, but still alive. At worst, he would get shot or break his neck on the way down.

He grabbed the buckle on his harness and pushed it open. He leaned forward, ignoring the burning misery in his shoulder. His body exploded in pain as he fell between the branches of the tall tree. He heard the sickening snap as his body plowed into the hard ground. Agony tore through his right leg. He let out an airless cry. His body gave into the black dots in his vision. Pain ebbed and eventually the numbing void took over.

 

Everything was hazy. His body buzzed with dull pain. Why was he moving? Was he floating? Why was he floating? What happened?

Rata-tat-tatta… Tat-atat… he remembered. He was under fire. His parachute.... His mind flashbacked to the jump. He was missing time. Too much of it. 

He felt his arm swinging in the air and gasped, finally pushing the dark haze back. Pain assailed his body. His leg sent bolts of agony through his body in protest to the rough movement. His shoulder burned with every swing of his arm. His chest and stomach ached dully.

“What happened?” He muttered opening his eyes to see the tan dirt ground swaying below him. “What happened?” 

Joe stopped walking and rolled Steve off his shoulders and onto the hard ground. Steve cried out and say back into the ground.

“Ah!” He groaned.

“My leg’s broke,” Steve groaned and squinted up at his mentor.

“I thought it might be,” Joe said and offered him a canteen of water. “We started taking fire on the float down, and when I touched down, you were still in the air. You had to ditch from fifty feet up. Crashed through a tree.”

“Where’s backup?” Steve asked and took a sip of the lukewarm water.

“Hm, backup would be nice,” Joe sighed. “Problem is, our comms are useless until we get out of this valley.”

Joe took the canteen back and drank a few sips of water.

“What's wrong with my shoulder, Joe?” Steve asked and spit a mouthful of water. “Am I shot?”

Joe leaned over Steve and pulled back Steve’s collar and t-shirt. He sighed. 

“Yeah, you are,” Joe said. He replaced his canteen back into his pack.

“Through and through?” Steve asked, squinting up at Joe again.  
“Yeah, it's out,” Joe assured Steve.

“Well, that's good,” Steve sighed.

“We got to keep moving. There's still hostiles in this area,” Joe said, surveying their surroundings. 

“You got to leave me here, Joe,” Steve told the older man. He knew he couldn’t move fast and if there were still hostiles in the area Joe needed to get out as soon as possible if he had any chance of surviving.

“No,” Joe shook his head and said adamantly. “We're gonna make it up to that ridge, we're gonna get a signal and call for exfil.”

Joe nodded to the high, rocky ridge to their west. He knew how difficult it was going to be to reach the top, especially with a broken leg and a bullet wound.

“Now come on, let's go,” Joe told him and grasped Steve’s forearm tightly. He pulled Steve up and into his side, taking on as much of the younger SEALs weight.

“There's something wrong with you, you know that, Joe White?” Steve groaned as he stood, leaning into Joe’s side. “Something very wrong with you!”

 

The sun was bright, but the air was cold and crisp as Joe knelt by Steve’s side.  
“Ok, Steve, I’m going to have to splint this before we go any further.”

“Just leave me, Joe. I’m too slow. We’re going to be killed by the time we can reach the top of that ridge,” Steve argued as Joe sliced open his right pant leg with his blade.

“Not a chance, kid. We’ll make it,” Joe told him sternly. Steve looked down at his leg and groaned. The skin above the top of his boot was dark with bruising and he could see the swelling.

“I’ve seen worse,” Joe assured him and placed two straight sticks along Steve’s skin. He pulled out the small roll of tape from his pack and wrapped a piece along Steve’s calf and another piece around his ankle.

“There. It’s not the best, but it should help a little,” Joe said and pulled Steve to his feet again. The pain in his leg was still agonizing, but the splint made him feel slightly more stable.

“Thanks, Joe,” Steve groaned as he limped along the rocky ground. 

Their pace was painfully slow as Joe helped Steve along the uneven ground. They had finally reached the bottom of the ridge and the steep, rocky incline leered over the pair. Step, hobble, step, repeat. Sweat rolled down Steve’s forehead, mixing with the blood from the scratches on his face. He was tired.

“You see that?” Joe asked Steve nodding at the area of flat ground about a hundred meters away from them. “We’re going to stop there for a rest.”

Steve didn’t argue. He knew he needed to clean his shoulder wound again. He could feel that the wound had finally stopped bleeding with the help of quick-clot and the makeshift bandage Joe made him. Infection was bound to set in soon, regardless of how clean he kept his bandages.

By the time the pair reached the flat ground, Steve was panting from the exertion. His body protested the movement and was thankful to be able to lay on the cold, hard ground. Joe stood guard over their ‘camp’, which was little more than a pile of rocks and brush.

“This is fathom to base,” Joe said into his comms unit, hoping that they were high enough above the valley to be able to get his message out. All he got back in response was static. The sun was starting to set in the valley now. Steve knew once the sun went down they were going to be cold. Even in the summers the region was high enough in altitude that the nights were cold. Being February, it was going to be freezing out. All he could hope for was that the valley stayed dry.

Steve lay on the ground and relaxed his muscles. He did a quick inventory and allowed his body to report all of his injuries. His left shoulder was starting to feel warm. Infection had taken hold of the through and through wound. He must have cracked, or at least bruised, a rib based on the pain and stiffness when he breathed deeply. He had multiple bruises and scrapes from the tree. His right leg was broken and throbbed in time with his heart. He knew both bones, tibia and fibula, were damaged. He knew this meant months of leave and physical therapy.

Joe sat down next to Steve and offered him the canteen of water. It was lighter than Steve liked. Although it was cold, both he and Joe needed water. Maybe they’d find a small stream or something coming from the top of the ridge.

“How are you?” Joe asked Steve seriously.

“My shoulder feels infected,” Steve said honestly. “You’ve got to leave me.”

“Not going to happen, McGarrett,” Joe said and crouched next to Steve. He peeled back Steve’s fatigue’s collar again and made sure the bandages were still in place. 

“Joe,” Steve argued. The older man pretended to hear Steve’s encouragement to leave him here in the valley. Joe walked the perimeter of their small ‘camp’ silently watching for signs of their enemies as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the ridge.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man this chapter was really, really interesting to write. I'm glad people are reading and liking this work. I'm not sure if I'm going to use this in a series with my other work, but I suppose it would fit without too many issues. We'll see. I might include a short story about Steve, Lt. Santos from my other work, and the 'Balochistan' mission as an arc between the two fics or something.

“Not going to happen, McGarrett,” Joe said and crouched next to Steve.  He peeled back Steve’s fatigue’s collar again and made sure the bandages were still in place.  

 

“Joe,”  Steve argued.  The older man pretended to hear Steve’s encouragement to leave him here in the valley.  Joe walked the perimeter of their small ‘camp’ silently watching for signs of their enemies as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the ridge.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Fathom to base,” Joe called in clearly over his comms unit.  Static crackled. 

 

“This is Fathom.  Over,” Joe said clearly again.  Static.

 

“Take a hint, Joe,” Steve grunted.  He wished Joe would just leave him here.  Save himself. Stop this foolishness. Steve knew that the odds of both of them making it out of Shah i Kot Valley alive were low.  Very low. Much lower than Joe’s odds of survival if he would just leave Steve here.

 

Joe climbed back down the small, rocky hill that protected them from one side and knelt next to Steve.  The younger man was cold. The ground was cold, hard, and unforgiving to his wounds. His fatigues weren’t enough to protect him from the winter weather, especially at this altitude.  He had lost his pack with all of his supplies; water, MREs, blanket, medical supplies, and weapons, back in that tree. He tried not to shiver. Shivering made his shoulder burn and his leg throb.

 

“What are you doing?”  Steve asked Joe as the mentor shrugged his own jacket off.  “No, you keep that.”

 

“No, are you kidding?”  Joe told him, smiling. “This is baseball weather.  You island kids aren’t built for anything but 70s and sunshine.”

 

“Ah,” Steve muttered.  Steve was grateful for the extra layer of warm cloth, but he could tell Joe was lying.  He could see the goosebumps along his arms as the cool breeze picked up. If he had to guess, it was only degrees above freezing.  He couldn’t see his breath, but he could tell that by morning a fine layer of frost would be on the ridge.

 

“Let me ask you something?”  Joe said as he opened the canteen.  The sloshing water concerned Steve. They needed to find water soon.

  
“That girl, Catherine what's the deal there?”  Joe asked as he peeled back Steve’s shirt and removed the makeshift bandages.   

 

“That ever gonna happen?”  He asked to distract Steve before pouring a cold stream of water over, and into, the bullet wound on Steve’s shoulder.  Pain again. The water’s path lit up in bursts of stabbing agony. He grasped the extra shirt in his hands as a reflex to the pain, curled into himself as much as possible and hissed through the worst of the agony.  

 

“What do you mean?”  Steve asked through the fresh pain.

 

“I mean I've seen the way she looks at you,”  Joe responded with a smile on his face. “It's very clear the feeling's mutual.”

  
“What are you waiting for, Steve?”  Joe asked the younger SEAL. He took a piece of the shirt he had sacrificed for the bandage before and tore it into strips.  He saw how Steve was shivering and adjusted his jacket, even though he knew it wasn’t enough. It was something and something was better than nothing.  

 

“She's a lieutenant,” Steve said, breathing hard and biting his cheeks as Joe redressed the wound with the torn fabric.  “We work together. We're friends. I don't want to screw that up.”

  
“She's smart.  She's pretty. She can assemble a rifle in under thirty seconds in the dark.  Not asking her out is a screw up,” Joe said, still smiling. He finished packing Steve’s bullet wound and pulled the shirt back closed.

  
“Let me see that,”  Steve groaned as he attempted to sit up and inspect the bleeding gash on his partner’s arm, but settled for tugging on the shirt when his body protested at the movement.

  
“No.  That looks worse than it is,” Joe assured Steve.  

  
“Come on up…” Joe said, hooking his fingers around the shoulder straps of Steve’s tactical vest.  “Ready?”

 

“Yeah,” Steve said hoarsely.  Joe pulled on the straps until Steve was leaning forward, his exit wound exposed.

 

“Shiii,” Steve bit out as a new wave of fresh, burning misery radiated from his leg, chest and shoulder.  Joe got to work at cleaning and covering the still oozing exit wound in Steve’s shoulder. 

 

“You can move much faster alone.  You need to leave me here,” Steve bit out.  His voice was weak and hoarse. He knew he didn’t have much fight left.  Joe needed to get himself out.

 

“No.  I'm fine,”  Joe said as he mopped up the blood and dirt from the wound with a torn piece of shirt.

  
“Stubborn son of a bitch,” Steve muttered in annoyance.  Why wouldn’t Joe just leave him. Why didn’t Joe want to live?  He was going to die if he tried to get Steve to the exfil site. Surely the insurgents would find them by the time both men made it to the top of the ridge and got backup.

  
“We're gonna make it through this, both of us,” Joe assured Steve again.  “I made a promise.”

  
“What are you talking about?”  Steve asked, confused. “ A promise to who?”

 

Joe ignored the question and gently guided Steve back onto the hard ground.  Steve managed to bite back the groan into a quiet grunt of pain as he leans back into the dirt.  Joe sighed and pulled the jackets back over the young man’s chest and exposed arms.

 

“We're gonna stop here for the night,” Joe said.  Steve was breathing hard. Joe recognised the pattern of the breaths.  Steve was trying to regulate his pain and decrease the chances of shock by breathing in rhythmic breaths.  Good, kid, use your training.

  
“Okay,” Steve said weakly.  His eyes drifting shut a little.

  
“I'm gonna hide you and keep watch.  Try to get a signal up at the ridge,” Joe said nodding to the top of the hill.

  
“Okay, Joe,” Steve repeated weakly.  The adrenaline was being reabsorbed into his body and being replaced by exhaustion, pain, and coldness.

  
“Take this,” Joe told him and pulled out his pistol.  “It's all we got.”

  
“You insist on telling me every ten minutes I can run and you can't,”  Joe joked with Steve and placed the gun into Steve’s right palm, curling his fingers over the hilt.  He gave the cold, clammy hand a reassuring squeeze and stood up. Their surroundings were still dark, but the clear night and the stars gave off enough light for Joe to see that they were alone.  At least for now…

  
“I can still run faster than you,” Steve coughed.

  
“Yeah, probably,” Joe told the SEAL and took off up the rocky slope.  Steve could hear the shuffling of boots over the ground grow fainter and fainter until all he could hear was the breeze rustling through the brush.

 

He grasped Joe’s pistol tightly in his fist and focused on his breathing.  Breathing was key in situations like this. Breathing helped distract him from the pain.  Breathing helped keep him awake although his body was screaming for sleep. His eyelids felt heavy and every time he blinked it got harder and harder to open them again.   
  


 

God, he was cold.  He pulled Joe’s jacket closer to his body and shivered as the breeze blew against his sweaty face.  Joe had been gone for what felt like hours. The only blessing was that Steve hadn’t heard any gunshots since the older SEAL had left him with their only firearm.  

 

He could see the sky to his east start to turn from pitch black to purple and, finally, to a swath of peaches and pale pinks.  It almost reminded him of the sunrise at home when the sun finally peaked over the highest peaks of the dead volcanoes. 

 

Steve lay watching the sun peak over the tops of the mountains and ridges until the sun was shining low in the eastern sky, just above the top of the adjacent ridgeline.  He started to hear shuffling. Boots crunching over pebbles and twigs. He gripped the pistol tightly, finger near the trigger, and waited.

 

The sounds of someone approaching became louder and louder until Steve could see the top of Joe White’s hat peeking out above the brush.  Steve gave a sigh of relief and loosened his hold on the pistol in his hand. 

 

“Steve,”  Joe whispered through the brush.

 

“Joe,” Steve called back.  His voice, barely a whisper, was hoarse and gravely.  He was thirsty and he felt hot, but cold at the same time.  Fever, he told himself. The infection in his shoulder had taken hold and his body was doing its best to fight it off.

 

“Hey, son.  Have a good nap?”  Joe greeted him, trying to be jovial.  The man must have seen the sweat on Steve’s skin and the exhaustion and pain in Steve’s eyes.  He knew that they had to get out of this valley… and soon. Not just because insurgents were hunting them, but also because Steve’s injuries needed medical attention right now.

 

“Did you get backup?”  Steve ignored his mentor’s joke and handed the pistol back to the older man who slid it back into its holster.

 

“Yes, but we have to make it to that point,” Joe told him and pointed to a point near the top of the ridge.  

 

Steve knew from the maps he had been studying that the point was a small, flat stip of land where a helocopter could land.  He also knew that between their current location and that point there were two small camps of insurgents and possibly half a dozen small caves with more hostiles.  The trek wasn’t going to be easy either. The terrain was rocky with brush in some places and open plateau in others. They would be sitting ducks on those plateaus.

 

“Joe, you and I both know I’m never going to be able to make it across this ridge quickly, or quietly, enough to not attract attention,” Steve said.

 

“Well, you better try your best because you’re not staying here and having another nap.  I’m going to need backup,” Joe said sternly. Joe hoped that telling Steve he was the backup the man wouldn’t give up.  He knew the kid was generous and self-sacrificing almost to a fault. He took his duty to his country, and especially to his SEAL brothers, seriously

 

“Yes, sir!”  Steve responded and forced himself to sit up.  He was stiff and the motion made his injuries protest with aches and sharp pains.  He took a few breaths and grasped the proffered forearm of his mentor. He allowed Joe to haul him to his feet as he bit back a cry of agony.  His leg really, really didn’t like being moved or touched by anything. He leaned against the other SEAL and breathed through the pain.

 

“Good, now, I told them we’d meet them there at 0930.  So, that gives us just under three hours to make it to the exfil site,”  Joe informed Steve. 

 

“Joe,” Steve said.  He wasn’t going to make it to that site in three hours.  There was no way in hell.

 

“Here, I found a stream and refilled it,” Joe cut Steve off by handing him the nearly full canteen of water.  Steve took it in a shaky hand an gulped down the cold water before handing it back to Joe.

 

“Good.  Now let’s get going,” Joe said and looped his arm around Steve’s waist and taking some of the wounded man’s weight.  The pair slowly made their way through the rocky ground and around the brush. Both men were watching and listening to their surroundings for signs of other humans.

 

They had been walking for about an hour before Joe suddenly stopped and lowered Steve back onto the ground behind a bush.  Steve bit his cheek as his leg twisted awkwardly. Joe crouched down beside him, gun in hand.

 

A young man stood guard about twenty yards ahead of them.  He couldn’t have been older than sixteen, but sixteen was plenty old enough for the Taliban to put a semi-automatic into your hands and force you into killing others. 

 

“Stay here,” Joe whispered pushed Steve further into the ground so that he was completely hidden by the branches of the bush.

 

Steve couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear perfectly fine.  He could hear the scuffle of feet. He could hear the young soldier's quick gasp of surprise.  He could hear the grunt of pain followed by the final gurgle of breath. Joe White had neutralized the threat.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm currently working on the next chapter. I have most of it done, but its reading a little awkwardly so I might scrap it and start new. I also just rewatched episode 9.10 :( and need to revise for some of the things Steve and Joe discuss.

“Stay here,” Joe whispered pushed Steve further into the ground so that he was completely hidden by the branches of the bush.

 

Steve couldn’t see what was going on, but he could hear perfectly fine.  He could hear the scuffle of feet. He could hear the quick gasp of surprise.  He could hear the grunt of pain followed by the final gurgle of breath. Joe White had neutralized the threat.

\-----------------------------------------------  
  


They hadn’t hobbled far before Steve heard the rumble of echoing voices and activity from the camp behind them.  Someone must have found the body of the boy. They were being hunted. He could hear the distinct sounds of voices calling for help and organizing a search party.  His pashto was able to pick up some of the dialect’s words.

 

“Joe,” Steve alerted the older man.

 

“I heard.  We’ve got to pick up the pace,” Joe said and trudged ahead holding the stolen rifle.  Steve was forced to hop quickly, using the older man as crutch. It was painful and exhausting, but it was the only way he and Joe were going to stay alive.

 

Half an hour in, the voices quieted.  Joe stopped and handed Steve the canteen.  “Drink.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve grunted hoarsely.  He had been breathing hard and his throat hurt.  Everything hurt. His leg was on fire, his other leg was cramping badly, his shoulder burned and his left arm had gone numb.  That was bad. Very bad.

 

He took the water and drank the cool water again.  He spit and handed the canteen back to Joe who took a few sips.  Joe surveyed the area and sighed.

 

“We have to get going.  If we can make it up that hill we will be able to see the hostiles coming,” Joe nodded to the hill along the side of the ridge.  They would be open targets for almost half of the ascent because of the bare ground. It was a risk.  The pair wouldn't have trees and bushes to hide their movements over parts of the climb.  Their insurgents would be able to see their exact location.

 

“Let’s go,” Steve grunted and limped forward with Joe.  

 

The incline was difficult for Steve to limp up.  The ground was loose and rocky and Steve would have face planted multiple times if Joe hadn’t kept a hard bruising grip on Steve’s arm.  The first open trek they came across Joe had stopped them.

 

“We’re going to have to cross this quickly,”  Joe said.  "It's not going to be easy."

 

“Ok,” Steve said.  He knew what was coming… and what he was risking if he wasn’t fast enough.

 

“On three?” Joe asked.  His grip on Steve's arm went to the sailor's waist.  Joe pulled Steve up, pulled his closer and took most of the SEALs weight.

 

“On three,” Steve agreed, his face set in a grimace.

 

Joe counted them down and physically pulled Steve into the clearing.  Steve did his best to keep up with Joe, but he couldn’t keep his cries of pain quiet while he did it.  By the time he had ran halfway across the clearing, tears welled in his eyes and black dots swam in his vision.  Each step sent agony through his body.  Joe's arm around his waist aggravated his ribs.

 

“Hey, hey, sit,”  Joe’s voice called through the pain.  Steve could feel hands on his face.

 

“Steve?”  Joe called and tapped on his cheek.

 

“Just a minute,” Steve coughed and leaned into Joe.  Joe nodded and rested a hand on Steve’s chest. 

 

The pain induced haze cleared and the dark spots receded into the edges of Steve’s vision.  Steve took a few deep breaths and nodded.  Steve blinked the tears away and saw that Joe had set him down behind a half dead bush that shielded them from view from the valley.

 

“I’m good,”  He muttered after a few minutes. “I’m good.  Let’s go.” 

 

“Ok, kid.  Up ye' get,” Joe said and hauled Steve to his feet for what felt like the hundredth time since their jump.

 

They made their way up the hill again.  The ground was less steep and more dirt than rock.  Joe took most of his weight and Steve let him. They were keeping a good pace and hadn’t heard the insurgents behind them for a while.  They had easily crossed the second clearing that was mostly flat and a relatively short distance across.

 

The third clearing was much closer to the top of the hill.  It was also much more open. No bushes or trees were there to hide behind or block them from the view of the valley below.  Steve knew it would take them a lot longer to cross than the other two.

 

“Last one, Steve.  Then we can stop and rest for a few minutes,” Joe promised him.

 

“Let’s get his over with,” Steve groaned and pushed Joe into the clearing.

 

He was in pain.  So much pain flowed around his body.  He could feel Joe’s bruising grip on his waist and fingers wrapped in his shirt.  He could feel every step and stumble awaken fresh stabbing agony up his leg.  The only part of his body that didn’t hurt was his left arm. That made him the most nervous.  Blood loss, possible nerve damage, infection, shock, any of these could cause the worrisome numbness.  All of which could spell the end of his career or the end of his life.

 

He didn’t remember making it across the clearing.  He came to half laying in Joe’s lap. Both of them were panting for breath.  Sweat dripped down his face.  Nausea sprouted in Steve’s stomach as he shifted. He groaned and rolled onto his side.  The spasms only brought up bile and water which he weakly spat onto the hard ground.

 

“You’re okay, son,” he could feel Joe’s hand on the back of his head.  Steve spat again and rolled onto his back, head resting on Joe's thigh. He saw Joe’s canteen in front of his face and he weakly grabbed it.  With Joe’s help to steady the water, he drank a few sips and swished the water around his mouth to wash the taste of bile out.

 

“‘M sorry, Joe,” he muttered.

 

“Don’t sweat it, kid,” Joe told him and patted Steve on the chest again.  He looked up at their surroundings and frowned. “I’m sorry kid, but we need to get climbing.  I think we’ve been spotted.”

 

“Mmmk,” Steve hummed and trudged up whatever energy and adrenaline he could gather to help Joe pull him up.  He could hear the yells and spatter of bullets hitting dirt meters below them.

  
  


“We're gonna stop here and try to hold them off till the chopper arrives,” Joe told Steve as he climbed under the fallen tree branch.  Steve was laying with his head resting against the dry wood. The exfil site was less than thirty yards away and Steve and Joe wouldn’t be able to find cover up there.  It was safer to fight off the insurgents from behind this tree and make a run for the chopper when backup arrives.

 

“It should be here in a few minutes,” Joe said and set the stolen rifle up on the tree branches.  

 

“Joe,” Steve said weakly.  “There's 20 of them and two of us.  We're gonna be dead in a couple minutes.”

  
“We're not dying today, son,” Joe said sternly.  “But I want you to promise me two things.”

 

Steve rolled his head on the wood and looked at the man with fever clouded eyes.  

 

“When we make it back, I want you to ask Catherine out,” Joe said and looks down at Steve.  Steve smiled and laughed weakly before the action caused a thick, heavy cough to form.  Pain in his ribs and shoulder wound.  Pain across his cramping muscles.

 

“And I want you to visit your dad, and I don't want to hear, hear you say no, either,” Joe shook his head at Steve before continuing, “that's how you pay me back for this.”

  
“You got one father, and despite what you may think, that man loves you,” Joe finished.

  
“Okay, Joe,”  Steve said, “Okay, Joe.”

  
“Good, now here,” Joe said and thrust his pistol into Steve’s right hand.  Steve propped himself up against the wood and readied his weapon. He couldn’t see the insurgents, but he could hear them coming over the top of the hill.

 

The first man who came into view below them Joe shot dead with a bullet through the head.  The second insurgent was dead before he even realized someone was shooting at them. Steve could hear the yells of the rest of the insurgents as they realized two of their men had been shot dead.

 

Steve heard the familiar woosh of helicopters incoming.  Steve looked over the top of the ridge and saw a group of blackhawk helicopters flying in near formation toward their location.  He sighed in relief. Real backup was here.

 

“That’s us, son.  Let’s go,” Joe said, shooting another insurgent who was brave enough to leave cover. 

 

Joe roughly grabbed Steve’s wrist and looped his arm around Steve’s leg.  He lugged Steve onto his shoulders in a rough fireman’s carry and stood slowly.  Steve bit back a cry of pain as his shoulder was jostled and his leg was dragged over Joe’s shoulder and bent forward at the knee.

 

“Sorry, kid,” Joe apologized as he started a quick jog to the helicopters that were now laying down coverfire and stirring up a cloud of dust to hide their movements.

 

Steve felt the pain easing and exhaustion take over as he swayed over Joe’s shoulders.  He dropped his head onto Joe’s arm. The world went black and he was numb.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a filler chapter that I felt needed to be added between Steve fulfilling his promise to Joe and his being saved from the Taliban

PREVIOUSLY:

Steve heard the familiar woosh of helicopters incoming.  Steve looked over the top of the ridge and saw a group of blackhawk helicopters flying in near formation toward their location.  He sighed in relief. Real backup was here.

 

“That’s us, son.  Let’s go,” Joe said, shooting another insurgent who was brave enough to leave cover. 

 

Joe roughly grabbed Steve’s wrist and looped his arm around Steve’s leg.  He lugged Steve onto his shoulders in a rough fireman’s carry and stood slowly.  Steve bit back a cry of pain as his shoulder was jostled and his leg was dragged over Joe’s shoulder and bent forward at the knee.

 

“Sorry, kid,” Joe apologized as he started a quick jog to the helicopters that were now laying down coverfire.

 

Steve felt the pain easing and exhaustion take over as he swayed over Joe’s shoulders.  He dropped his head onto Joe’s arm. The world went black and he was numb.

* * *

Someone was poking him and it hurt.  It hurt a lot. Steve groaned and raised his hand to swat at whoever was prodding his left shoulder.

 

“Sir, we need you to stay still,” a hazy voice called out.  Someone had pressed down on his leg and Steve let out a strangled cry.  He arched his hips to try to pull his leg away from the harsh hands. He fought the hands holding him and tried to sit up and roll away from the torture.  He felt his hand hit something hard, but flesh covered.

 

“Ow, damn it!” he heard someone curse.  English. American accent. Good. That was good he told himself.  

 

“Sir, we need you to hold him,” another voice cut through the haze.  “He’s hurting himself and we can’t find a vein to start a line.”

 

“McGarrett,” a familiar voice called out.  He felt a warm, calloused hand rest on his cheek.  The hands prodding his shoulder and the hands pressing on his leg disappeared.  The agony disappeared into throbbing. Steve’s mind cleared from the misery induced fog.

 

“McGarrett, calm down,” the voice commanded.  “We’re going home, kid.”

 

“Joe?” Steve called out.  This voice wasn’t Joe’s. He needed to know Joe was ok.  He needed to know Joe didn’t die for him.

 

“Lieutenant Commander White is fine,” the voice said.  Steve could feel the hands roaming over his body again.  Poking. Prodding. Pushing. He forced himself to lie still on the hard metal.  He forced himself to breathe through the pain. Ignore it. Breathe. Exhale. In.  Out.

 

He peeled back an eyelid and saw the hazy face of his commanding officer smiling from above his head.  He could see the worry in Lieutenant Commander Pope’s eyes.

 

“Sir, Joe…?” He muttered again.  His mouth felt like it was full of cotton.  He could feel the morphine work its way through his veins.

 

“He’s right over there, kid,” Pope said and nodded down the helicopter.  Joe White was slumped back on one of the helicopter’s seats, a young medic prodding at his arm.  He looked exhausted. Steve could see his mentor arguing with the medic and gesturing toward Steve.

 

“He’s exhausted, a little busted up, but fine,” Steve heard Pope say again.  He felt hands on his leg again, pressing, burning hot agony.

 

“Arghh!”  Steve cried out and his world turned to black nothingness.

  
  


“Stable, but…”  Steve heard the fuzzy voices talking.  “Transport…” 

 

“Surgery… Germany,”  more voices cut through the fog.  “Next plane…”

 

Steve tried to focus on the voices in the drug-induced haze, but he couldn't.  The voices were too quiet. Too jumbled. He groaned and focused on his body. He could tell he was on something soft… well softer than the hard ground and the cold metal of the helicopter.  The air felt warm, but he was still cold. 

 

His eyes refused to open because his eyelids were too heavy and stuck.  He could feel cold rubber resting on his cheek, nose, and chin forcing dry air into his nose.  Dull aches came from his leg. His shoulder throbbed in time with his heartbeat. His throat hurt and his mouth was dry.

 

His limbs were heavy and felt disconnected from the rest of his body.  Shifting the fingers of his right hand over what felt like a woolen blanket took much for effort than they should have.  Steve moaned as he tried to move his arms and legs again.

 

“Hey, he’s waking up,” a stranger’s voice called from nearby.  Steve could hear the shuffling of boots on tile and hurried voices.  Steve couldn’t distinguish the conversation and he soon felt cool relief flashing into his veins.  He didn’t fight the drugs and allowed his mind to sink into darkness.

  
  


Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep…

 

Steve woke up to the rhythmic beeping of his heart monitor.  He soon recognized the quiet hissing sounds of his oxygen cannula and the occasional pumping of his blood pressure cuff as well.

 

He tried to open his eyes, but they felt sticky.  He tried again and managed to crack both eyes open.  The room was, thankfully, only half lit from the window, but the light still send daggers into his brain.  He groaned and slammed his eyes shut again.

 

“Hey!”  He heard someone say.  He felt someone’s hand hand squeeze his right arm.

 

“Steve?  You awake?”  Freddie Hart asked again and gave Steve’s arm another squeeze.

 

“Lights,”  he grunted.  Steve could hear the larger man shuffling around the room and the light filtering in from his eyelids dimmed significantly.

 

“There, no lights,” Freddie said again.  “Steve?” 

 

Steve forced his eyes open again.  The room was indeed dark except for the light filtering in from the doorway.  His old friend, Freddie Hart, was looming over his bed with a big, goofy grin on his face.

 

“Fred,” Steve attempted.  His throat was on fire.

 

“Here,” Freddie said and held a straw to his friend’s lips.  Steve drank the lukewarm water greedily until Freddie removed the straw.   “Not too much. You’ve been out of it for a while.”

 

“Freddie,” Steve tried again.  “What’re you doing here?”

 

“We’re on leave,” Freddie shrugged.  Someone must have pulled some strings.  His team hadn’t been scheduled for leave.  Steve doubted they would’ve been given leave right in the middle of a big offensive mission.

 

“Where?” Steve asked.

 

“Landstuhl,” Freddie informed him.  Steve looked up blankly at Freddie.  

 

“Germany,”  Freddie added.

 

“Hmmm...Joe?”  Steve asked.

 

“Lieutenant Commander White is fine.  He wanted to come, but he had to stay behind for the op,” Freddie assured Steve.

 

“Mmmh,” Steve hummed and felt his eyelids close again.

 

“Go to sleep.  They’re giving you the good stuff,” Freddie said.  “I’ll come back later.”

 

“Mmmk,” Steve cracked a small smile.  He really couldn’t feel much. He should be feeling a lot.  

 

“Sleep, Steve.  I’ll be back tomorrow.  The guys wanted come, but visitors are limited,” Freddie told him.  Steve nodded and quickly fell asleep.

* * *

 

“Sir!”  Steve greeted his CO, Lieutenant Commander Pope, when he entered the small room.  He tried to push himself into a sitting position, but pain ran up his leg and through his shoulder.

 

“McGarrett, lay down,” Pope commanded the younger man.  He smiled and shook his head. The young ones were always like this.  They always learnt after a while.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve said.  He wasn’t going to argue.  Moving was a painful enough reminder of his injuries.

 

“How’re you doing?”  Pope asked as he sat in the uncomfortable looking plastic chair Freddie had dragged into the room days before.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve said automatically.  Pope raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

 

“McGarrett, I’ve talked to Joe White and your doctors.  You are a long way from fine,” Pope said curtly.

 

“Ok, sir.  I will be fine,” Steve amended.  “I took a through-and-through to the shoulder on the float down.  I crashed through a tree and had to ditch from fifty feet up.”

 

“I know.  Joe told me what happened,” Pope said.  “We picked you up at the exfil site Commander White called in.  You were a mess.”

 

Steve sighed.  He knew he was a mess.  The mission had gone FUBAR from the minute it first started.  

 

“Tib-fib fracture, a bullet wound that had grown a nasty infection, a nice set of bruised ribs, dehydration, and a concussion.  We got you back to base and fixed you up the best we could.”

 

“And?” Steve asked.  His doctors hadn’t explained much yet.  They were more concerned with finding the right antibiotic regimen and monitoring his leg’s stability.

 

“Medical evac to Germany.  Surgery to fix your leg. A round of high strength antibiotics knocked out the infection in your shoulder.  You were unconscious for three days,” Pope said.

 

It was March 5th.  He and Joe were rescued at the exfil location on the 26th of February.  He had been stuck in his hospital bed going on four days now.  Nurses had been helping him to radiology and the bathroom, but that was the only two reasons he was allowed out of bed so far.  

 

“How long until I can be in active duty?”  Steve asked. Not knowing if he wanted to hear the answer.

 

“Doctors are saying six weeks for your shoulder to fully heal.  At least five months until you can be back in the field with your leg the way it is,” his CO said.  

 

“Shit,” Steve swore.  Even if Steve took an entire month of medical leave, four months of office work was going to suck.

 

“Listen, I’ve called in a few favors with an old friend who owes me a few.  You’ll be welcomed back into the team the minute you are cleared for active duty and want to come back, but a friend in Naval Intelligence is willing to take you on in the meantime,” Pope assured him.

 

“Thanks,” Steve said.  “Sorry about the op.”

 

He was beyond grateful that he didn’t have to do some menial office work while he healed.  Setting up supply runs and filling out transfer forms was dead boring. It would be even worse if the Navy made him sit in a recruiting office.  He didn’t exactly look like the ideal guy to convince young, impressionable eighteen year olds to join the Navy with the whole broken leg gunshot wound situation.

 

“Don’t worry about it, kid.  You did good,” the officer told him.  “The information Joe White was able to tell us has been very helpful.”

 

“Good,” Steve grunted as he shifted in the bed.  He had asked to be taken off the heavy duty pain killers.  He couldn’t stand his head being so fuzzy and he could manage the twinges of pain if he didn’t move and took Tylenol when he needed it.

 

“McGarrett, I have to get back to base, but I want you to follow the doctors’ orders and get back to us soon,” his CO told him.

 

“Yes, sir,” Steve responded.  “I will.”

 

“Glad to hear it.  You get well, kid,” Pope smiled and shook Steve’s hand.

 

“Bye, sir,” Steve said as Pope made to leave his room.

 

“Good bye, Steven.”

* * *

 

Steve had a steady flow of visitors for the next hour.  Each of his teammates had stopped by to chat and to wish him a fast recovery.  Apparently someone couldn’t come up with a cover story for how he had managed to get shot and break his leg with working with Naval Intelligence on closing an investigation of Syrian child soldiers, so they had been told a version of the truth.  The actual mission had already started before Steve had woken up, so it wasn’t as if the information that Steve had been doing reconnaissance in the valley was going to hinder the mission.

 

“Look who’s awake!”  Freddie sauntered into his room.  His smile took up about half of his face.  “Here, I thought you might be bored.”

 

Freddie Hart was one of a handful of people on this earth that knew Steve absolutely loved trashy romance novels.  There was something about the lack of needing to think that appealed to Steve. Well, that, and the fact that the plotline wasn’t always terrible.  It was always a good day when he found one that had a good plot twist. Freddie set the pile of three books onto Steve’s bedside table.

 

“Thanks, man,” Steve smiled.  

 

“Don’t thank me yet.  I had this little old German lady pick them out for you.  Told her they were for my mother” Freddie said. Steve laughed, but a cough formed in his throat and he hacked for a solid fifteen seconds.  He groaned as the movement aggravated his shoulder which was now wrapped tightly in clean, white bandages.  The bullet had luckily missed his major blood vessels, his nerves, and bones, so once the skin and muscle healed the wound would be no more than a scar.

 

“Hey, you ok?” Freddie asked in concern.

 

“Yeah,” Steve bit out.  “Yeah, I’m good.”

 

“Alright…” Freddie said uncertain of Steve’s answer, “When are you getting out of here?”

 

“Friday,” Steve responded frowning.  He wanted to leave the hospital now, but doctors still wanted to monitor him for infection and allow his shoulder more time to heal before he is released and allowed to use crutches.

 

“Damn,” Freddie swore.  “Leave ends tomorrow and it looks like we’re going back to the sandbox.”

 

“Sorry, man,” Steve apologized.

 

“Don’t sweat it,” Freddie said.  “Do you know where you’re going to recoup?  My parents offered their guestroom up.”

 

“I was thinking Pearl,” Steve said honestly.  Freddie’s eyebrows raised in surprise. Steve had spent many leaves with Freddie’s family because he had nowhere else to go.  Lisa and Timothy Hart were kind, loving people who treated Steve just like Freddie and his siblings.  Whenever Freddie was sent a care package or letter, Steve got one as well.

 

 

“I… I thought I was going to die,” he continued.  “And... I just thought that I didn’t want to die without seeing my dad again, you know?”

 

“Sure,” Freddie said.  Steve knew Freddie didn’t fully understand.  His parents had been present at almost every event they could have been at for their son.  Steve’s dad had only appeared at his graduation from SEAL training. He knew Freddie understood family though.

 

“I thought I could go back to Honolulu and do my rehab.  Spend some time with my father. Maybe ask Catherine out,” Steve smiled.  Freddie laughed.  The two had met each other a handful of times before, and Freddie kept telling Steve that he was crazy not to be dating her.

 

“All of this because of a little boo-boo?”  Freddie asked.

 

“Lieutenant Commander White,” Steve corrected.

 

“What?”  Freddie scrunched his face in confusion.

 

“I made a promise with Commander White,” Steve said.  “If we got out of Shah i Kot Valley alive, I would go visit my dad and ask Catherine out.”

 

“Wow,” Freddie whistled.  “I’ve got to hand it to Commander White.  He really knows how to motivate a guy.”

 

“Sure does,” Steve said.  “I think he promised my father that he would keep me alive.”

 

“Really?”  Freddie raised his eyebrows.

 

“He said he had made a promise to protect me when I told him to leave me.  He knew my father from when they were both in the Navy,” Steve explained.

 

“Steve, even if he didn’t make a promise to someone, maybe your father, he wasn’t going to leave you behind,” Freddie said seriously.

 

“He should have, Freddie,” Steve said looking pointedly at Freddie.

 

“What if the roles were reversed?”  Freddie prompted. “Would you have left him in that valley?”

 

“No.  Absolutely not,” Steve denied.  Leaving another SEAL behind to be interrogated or killed by the enemy was unthinkable for Steve.

 

“See,” Freddie pointed out.  “We’re SEALs. We don’t leave men behind.”

 

"Hooyah," Steve mumbled.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversation between Steve and Catherine seen during 9x11. Also the conversation between Steve and his Dad and his homecoming.

“See,” Freddie pointed out.  “We’re SEALs. We don’t leave men behind.”

 

"Hooyah," Steve mumbled.

* * *

  
  


“Steve, what the hell are you doing calling me on a secured line?”  Catherine answered his call sternly. Steve knew the nurse who was fidgeting around his room was listening into this conversation.  It was an intriguing conversation. He had to tell more than a few white lies so far and the nurse knew that and dutifully ignored them, so he let her stay.

 

“I may have told your CO that I was gravely wounded in battle… which is actually half true…”  He added looking down at the hospital gown and plaster cast on his leg.

 

“Are you okay?”  Catherine asked nervously from the other end of the line.  Steve smiled at the concern he could hear in her voice.

 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” Steve assured her, “but look, that’s, uh, not the reason I’m calling.”

 

Steve took a deep breath and looked at the nurse who was fiddling with something on the other bed.  She could pretend to look busy and stay in the room as long as she didn’t rat on him.

 

“I, uh, I’ve been invited to an Army-Navy Gala next month at West Point, and presuming I can get stateside for it in time, I was just wondering if, uh” he paused again, face red.

 

“I wondered if you’d like to be my plus one?”

 

“Uh, well, you know,” Catherine started.  “That depends. Are you going to be able-bodied enough to dance with me?”

 

“I’ll… I’ll hit that dance floor on crutches if I have to,” Steve said.  He chuckled a little.

 

“Hmm,” Catherine smiled.

 

“Just to eliminate any confusion, this is not um,” Steve said and fidgeted with his blanket.  “We wouldn’t be going as friends. This is me, uh… this is me asking you out,” He managed to say.

 

“On a date,” he added.  “On a date.”

 

Silence.  Shit he ruined it.  She didn’t like him like that.  Shit…

 

“Hello?”  He checked the phone.  He hadn’t dropped the call.  

 

“Catherine?  Hello?” He asked again, brow furled.

 

“Yeah… uh, yeah.  Question for you,” She said.  “Um, what took you so long?”

 

“Let’s just say I, uh, took some good advice from an old friend,” Steve told her, thankful he followed Joe’s advice.  

 

He was going on a real date with Catherine.  Catherine, the woman he had a crush on since he was at the Naval Academy.  The woman he had been friends with for years. The woman he had ditched other dates to help study for exams with.  The woman he had sat through countless bad films with.

 

“I’m glad you did, Steve,” Catherine told him.  He smiled.

 

“Me too,” Steve said honestly.

 

“Steve, I’ve got to get back to work.  Call me later?” Catherine asked him.

 

“Of course,” Steve smiled like a school boy.  “I’ll talk to you when I’m back stateside, Cath.”

 

“Ok.  Get well soon, Steve,” Catherine said back and the line was broken.

 

Steve smiled and laid back into the plush pillows.  The nurse sent him a knowing smile. He let out a small snort of laughter at the whole idea.  He was acting like he was fifteen again and asking Lena Kepula to homecoming.

 

* * *

  
  


Steve stared at the phone.  This call was much more difficult than the previous one.  He took a few breaths, punched out the number on the number pad and held the phone to his ear.  He wrapped the spiralled cord around his fingers nervously as the phone rang. The sent up a silent thank you that his room was empty of nosy nurses this time.

 

“Hello?”  Steve heard.  His mouth went dry.  He didn’t know what to say.  He hadn’t expected anyone to answer.  It was late in the evening in Hawaii and Steve thought the phone would ring through to his voicemail.

 

“Hello?”  the man asked again.  Steve open his mouth, but he couldn’t form the right words.  He quickly closed it.

 

“Steve?” he asked quietly.  “Is that you?”

 

“Um, yeah… Hi, Dad,” Steve managed.

 

“Oh, thank god,” his dad sighed.  “How are you? I’ve been calling everyday for updates, but Joe said you would call me, so I’ve been waiting.”

 

“I’m good,” Steve said quickly.  He knew that the US Navy must have informed his father that he had been injured in battle and transferred to a hospital in Germany.  It was protocol. His father was still his next of kin and his closest relative; therefore, his father knew all the major points of his medical health at this point.  He also knew Joe would keep his father updated on Steve’s condition, both physical and otherwise.

 

“That’s good.  So,” John McGarrett said awkwardly.  Steve could hear his father’s tone. His father didn’t believe him, but at least he didn’t push Steve.   “Are you coming home? You’re always welcome...”

 

“I requested to do my physical therapy at Pearl-Hickam,” Steve told his father.  He knew it was what his dad wanted, but he would never ask Steve to come home. He had thought it over after talking with his doctors.  Two birds one stone… He’d finish his PT, get some R&R in the hawaiian sun, spend some time with his dad, and join the intelligence sector there until he could join the SEALs in active duty again.

 

“It’ll be nice to have you home, Steve,” his dad told him in a surprised voice.  “I was worried.”

 

“Don’t be.  Commander White got me out,” Steve told his father.

 

“I know.  I called him the minute I was told you’d been hurt.  Steve,” his dad paused. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Dad,” Steve sighed.  “We’ll talk about it later.  Ok?”

 

“Ok, son,” John said.  Steve didn’t want to deal with this over the phone.  His father wouldn’t believe he was okay until he could see Steve in person.

 

“I’m flying back on the eighth.  Do you think you can pick me up at Hickam?”  Steve asked. He knew the Navy would provide him a ride and a place to live if his father couldn’t.

 

“Of course!  I’ll be there,” his dad said.  

 

“Thanks,” he told his dad.

 

“Just give me a call when you get there,” John said.  “I love you, Steve.”

 

“Love you too, dad.  I’ve got to go,” Steve told his dad.  He didn’t know what to tell his dad. Feelings weren’t something the pair really talked about much.  The pair didn’t talk about anything really. The conversations he had with his father had revolved around school, the Navy, sports, and Mary or Aunt Deb.  They never talked about home. They never talked about mom. They never talked about feelings.

 

“I’ll see you soon, Steve.  I love you, kid,” his dad said, strangely hoarse.

 

“Bye, dad,” Steve said and set the phone back in its cradle.  “I’ll see you soon.”

  
  


“Steve,” his doctor entered his room.  “How are you feeling today?”

 

“Better,” Steve said.  His shoulder only hurt when he moved it, his ribs only ached when he bent over and his leg throbbed and itched under the bulky cast, but he managed.

 

“You’re not experiencing any numbness?”  

 

“No,” Steve said.  He had regained feeling in his hand and fingers the day before when the swelling around the nerve bundle in his shoulder went down.

 

“That’s good.  You’re not showing any signs of the fever returning and your sutures are looking a lot better.  I don’t see any complications that would delay your flight back to the States.”

 

“That’s amazing,” Steve sighed.  He had finished the books Freddie had given him and the TV in his room only had German shows.  He was bored out of his mind. He couldn’t remember the last time he had this much time off.

 

“Yes, I’ve sent over a copy of your charts to the doctors at Tripler.  You should have some appointments set up already when you get stateside,” the doctor said.

 

“Great,” Steve said dryly.

 

“Last thing we have to discuss,” the doctor said and flipped through Steve’s chart.  “Do you want any medication for the flight. Sleeping pills, antiemetics?”

 

“No, I’ll be fine,” Steve shook his head.  He knew the fifteen hour flight was going to be uncomfortable.  Even with any changes he could make to his seating arrangements, sitting up in the metal fuselage for that long was going to suck.

 

“Alright, if you change your mind just tell me, ok?”  The doctor said. He knew that reasoning with the young SEAL was futile.  “Get some rest before you’re released.”

 

“Thanks, sir,” Steve thanked the man.  He had dealt with doctors who were much more pushy and less understanding than this one.  He was thankful.

 

* * *

  
  


“Sir, we’re going to be landing soon,” the younger sailor told Steve.

 

“Thanks,” Steve said.  The military plane didn’t have windows that he could see out of.  He wanted to see the green ridges and blue waters again. He couldn’t wait until he was sitting in the deck chairs on his father’s beach.

 

“Your seatbelt, sir,” the sailor, who couldn’t have been older than twenty, said awkwardly.

 

“Oh, right,” Steve blushed and managed to fumble with the buckle until it closed.

 

Steve could feel the plane angle forward the pressure change.  His ears popped. The jerk of the plane’s wheels landing on the tarmac jarred Steve’s leg.  He bit his lip and slammed his eyes shut.

 

“Sir, are you alright?”  The kid asked him again.

 

“I’m fine,” Steve replied as the pain died down.  The other sailor, O’Clare, had been annoying him with his eagerness to help since they left Germany.  The long flight provided the kid a lot of opportunities to offer help with some activity or chat about something, mostly about his plans for his first leave.

 

“Ok, sir,” he said again.  O’Clare was getting on his nerves.  He was grateful when the plane stopped and the back doors slowly opened allowing the bright hawaiian sunshine to enter the dull metal plane.  An older woman came into the plane, pushing a wheelchair. Steve hated it already. He had been told that, under no circumstances, was he to put any weight on his leg.  He had also been warned not to use crutches until his stitches were removed and the muscle was knitted back into one piece.

 

“Ensign McGarrett, welcome home,” She said.  “Let’s get you out of here.”

 

Steve nodded.  He undid his seatbelt, much quicker than putting it on, and awkwardly transferred himself from the seat to the wheelchair.  He wished he had been able to use crutches, but the doctors had been adamant that until his shoulder wound healed he was to use a wheelchair.  Three days, he told himself. Three days until he could hobble around on crutches.

 

“Is my father here?”  Steve asked the woman.

 

“I believe so, yes,” she told him smiling.  “I must say he did make quite the stir when he arrived.”

 

“What did he do?” Steve groaned.  He couldn’t see his father making a scene.  They just weren’t that close. Besides, McGarrett men controlled their emotions.

  
“Nothing bad, sir.  It’s not often parents use their old contacts to gain access to the base, though,” she said.  Steve knew she wasn’t going to explain further so he just let her shoulder his seabag and push him onto the hot cement tarmac.  The sun hurt his eyes, especially after the long flight in an windowless tube and the jetlag. He squinted and saw that he was being brought to the doors of an old building.

 

“Sir, Lieutenant Dunkowski is going to debrief you on your upcoming appointments, options for therapy, support groups, and resources available to you.  Then you are free to leave with your father if you wish.”

 

Lieutenant Dunkowski’s office was small, windowless, and covered in motivational posters.  PTSD. Depression. Anxiety. Grief Counselling. Steve knew where this discussion was going.

 

“Ensign McGarrett, welcome home,” Dunkowski smiled.  Steve could see the pity in the man’s eyes.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Steve replied politely, but curtly.  He just wanted to get out of this office and back into the sun.  The air conditioning was too powerful and made Steve shiver.

 

“So, I have spoken with your physicians in Germany and set up the recommended appointments with our doctors at Tripler.  They are all written down here,” Dunkowski handed Steve a pack of stapled papers with calendars and addresses.

 

“I also have some pamphlets that outline the resources available to you,”  Dunkowski said and pulled out the glossy folded papers and handed them over to Steve.  He splayed them out in his lap and sighed. He wasn’t experiencing signs of PTSD. He didn’t need a support group.  He wasn’t depressed.

 

Steve slid them into the stapled papers.

 

“Look, I seriously want you to consider looking into those,” Dunkowski pointed at the pamphlets Steve had hidden.

 

“Listen, sir,” Steve said.  “I appreciate it, but I’m fine.”

 

“Steve, you went through a traumatic situation.  There’s nothing wrong with getting help,” Dunkowski said earnestly.  He gave Steve a pitying look.

 

“Sir, I know there’s nothing wrong with getting help, but I am coping fine on my own,” Steve said.  “I know what happened to me was difficult, but I also know the signs of mental trauma. I’m fine.”

 

Dunkowski sighed and sat back in his chair.  He steepled his hands below his chin and looked at Steve again.

 

“You may be fine now, but I want you to promise me that you will get help if you aren’t fine later on,” Dunkowski bartered.

 

“I will, sir,” Steve said  He hoped that this conversation could end now and he could go home.  He was tired from the flight and the time change. He was overdue for the pills the physicians gave him.  He was sore from having to sit for so long. He was getting a headache from having to listen to the young sailor on the plane and now from having to talk with Dunkowski.

 

“Good,”  Dunkowski said.  “Here’s my phone number if you need it.”

 

“Thanks,” Steve took the small crisp paper and stuffed it with the pamphlets and out of sight.  He didn’t need his father seeing them and worrying.

 

“I know your father and some people are waiting for you, so I’ll have someone help you find them,” Dunkowski said and left Steve in the room by himself.

 

“Thank you, for your service, Ensign,” Dunkowski said and pushed his wheelchair in front of another young sailor.

 

“Sir, your father is just over here,” the woman said and guided Steve through a maze of narrow halls and doorways.

 

Steve hadn’t seen his father in nearly three years.  The man looked worn and gaunt, but he had a toothy smile plastered over his face.  He walked forward and proudly saluted his son.

 

“Dad,” Steve protested the formal greeting.  His father grinned and squeezed Steve’s good shoulder lightly.

 

“It’s so good to see you, Steve,” John McGarrett smiled.  Steve could see how exhausted his father looked. His eyes were tinged with pink and had dark bags underneath them.  His face was pale and wrinkled. His dad could use a good meal, a few nights of solid sleep, and a few hours at the beach under the bright sun.

 

“It’s good to be home,” Steve patted his father’s hand awkwardly.  He looked up and also saw another man standing by the door. The guy looked younger than his father, about thirty-five.  He was a native and Steve could just make out the bump underneath the man’s linen shirt. A cop.

 

“Speaking of home, do you want to stop for drinks on the way or something?”  His dad asked him.

 

“Nah, it was a long flight,” Steve said, almost guilty that he was stopping his dad from doing something fun and forcing him to care for his invalid kid.  “Want to get pizza? I haven’t had a decent pizza in forever.”

 

Steve wasn’t particularly hungry, but he felt that pizza was a good bargain between going out and going home and falling asleep.  He knew his father would bite at the idea of ordering in… especially if he felt that was what Steve wanted.

 

“Sure, kid,” his dad smiled.  “I’ll order us the usual when we get home?”

 

“Perfect,” Steve said.  “Let’s get outta here.”

 

“Steve, I have someone for you to meet.  This is my partner,” his father gestured to the second man.  “Ken Lanakila.”

 

“Nice to meet you,” Steve said.  He still didn’t know why his father had brought his partner to pick him up.

 

“Likewise.  Your father keeps talking about his kids, but it’s nice to finally meet one,” Ken said.  Steve frowned and his father looked guilty.

 

“Um, yeah,” Steve deflected.  He didn’t want to argue with his father over how he coped with his wife’s death.  At least, not right now.

 

“Ken’s letting us use his wife’s van.  There is no way you’d be comfortable in the Marquis or a blue and white,” his dad explained.

 

“Oh, right,” Steve said and looked down at the bulky cast again.  The white monstrocity reached from his toes to halfway up his thigh bending slightly at the knee.  He hated it.

 

“Let’s get you home,” his dad said and pushed Steve’s wheelchair through the doors and into the sun.  The heat was radiating off the black pavement of the parking lot and it felt great to Steve. Afghanistan was cold.  Germany was cold and wet. Hawaii was sunny, humid, and hot. The tendrils of heat he could see radiating up from the asphalt reminded him that he was home.

 

It was a two person job to get Steve into the backseat of the minivan.  His father had climbed into the van and helped gently pull Steve into the seat while Ken held the wheelchair stable and made sure the cast didn’t bang on the van’s metal frame.  

 

Once Steve was sitting as comfortably as possible in the back seat, his father reentered the van through the driver’s side door and started the engine as Ken tossed the folded wheelchair into the trunk.

 

“Dad, why are you driving?”  It made no sense to him.

 

“Listen kid, don’t ask.  I’ve tried to drive my own car, but your father is a control freak,” Ken said bitterly.  Obviously the topic had been a source of arguments in the past.

 

“Ok,” Steve whispered and looked out the windows.  He wisely let it go. The large widows, gentle driving, and antiemetic he had taken a few hours prior kept his car sickness down to a minimum.

 

Steve’s father drove the minivan cautiously through the rush hour traffic.  He could see the green peaks above the buildings and flashes of blue ocean as his father drove him home.  He let his eyes drift closed. 

\------------

Ugh, writing John-Steve convos was difficult...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, writing Steve's dad was soooo difficult. That messed up relationship made some of the convos I wrote just painfully awkward and needed a lot of revision before I got to where I found it got as good as it was going to be. I'm still deciding how long I'm going to make this whole fic, but there is at least 3 chapters left (probably more)...  
> I think the show does a really great job showing that Steve and John love each other, but have a distant relationship after 1993. The resentment Steve holds for his father's reaction to Doris's 'death' and his resulting exile from the islands is always going to be a sore subject for Steve before Season 1; therefore, I don't see the pair really being super close by the end of the fic because Steve doesn't really stay in contact with John after he is back in active duty, but I can see the pair having some wonderful father/son times.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve’s father drove the minivan cautiously through the rush hour traffic.  He could see the green peaks above the buildings and flashes of blue ocean as his father drove him home.  He let his eyes drift closed.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

  
  


“Oh my god!” Steve groaned as he bit into the first piece of hot pizza.  Cheese strings dripped onto his unshaved chin.

 

“Good?”  His father laughed and set a glass of water next to his son who was propped up against pillows on the couch.

 

“So, so good,” Steve mumbled around the half chewed pizza in his mouth.

 

“That’s disgusting,” his father chasitized.  “Didn’t the Navy teach you manners? Lord knows your mother and I tried.”

 

Steve swallowed and glared at his dad.  He pointedly took another large bite of the warm pizza.  The melted cheese burnt the roof of his mouth, but he didn't care.  The taste and his father's eye roll was worth it.

 

“What?  Do you know what pizza in the sandbox is like?”  He argued.

 

“No, I can’t even imagine,” his father frowned.  

 

“Don’t,” Steve said.  Steve hadn’t been to one mess hall where pizza wasn’t cardboard with bland sauce and unmelted cheese.  It was a disgrace.  Freddie had once tried to create 'pizza' using naan bread, crushed tomatoes, and goat cheese.  I wasn't half bad, but Steve wouldn't classify it as pizza.

 

“Listen, Steve, I want you to know you can talk to me.  I know things haven’t been the best between us, but if you need anything just ask,” his father said looking at Steve seriously.

 

“Ok, dad,” Steve said.  He knew his father would understand if he didn’t want to talk about Afghanistan.  He also knew his father served in Vietnam, had a purple heart, and saw what war was really like.

 

“Good, Steve,” his dad patted him on the shoulder.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I put your stuff in the guest room.  It’s just… stairs.” His dad gestured at the wooden steps leading up to his old bedroom.

 

“I don’t mind,” Steve said.  He was thankful he didn’t have to try to scale the wooden steps up to his old childhood room.  He would much rather stay in Mary’s old room, which was now a guest room, than spend five minutes dragging himself the steps.

 

“You look tired,” John pointed out.  Steve could see the worry in his father’s blue eyes again.

 

“I am,” Steve said honestly.  “I’m going to hit the sack once I’m done with this pizza.”

 

“Alright.  If you need anything, just yell,” John McGarrett said.  “ Do you have any plans for the rest of your leave?”

 

“No,” Steve shook his head.  “I put my appointment schedule in the kitchen, but I don’t have plans until next month.”

 

“Next month?” His father questioned.

 

“I kinda set up a date,” Steve blushed.

 

“Hmm,” his dad smiled, eyebrow arched.  “Who is the unlucky lady?”

 

“Just a friend I met at Annapolis,”  Steve explained vaguely. He wasn’t going to offer up anymore details than that.  “I’ve invited her to a gala at West Point next month.” 

 

“Well, good luck,” his dad patted him on the shoulder.  “I’ll try to be home to take you for your appointments, but if I have to work I’ll send someone to drive you, ok?”

 

“Yeah, that’s fine, dad,” Steve said.  He knew his father was dedicated to his job.  He didn’t mind his father having to work while he was home.  It was a good thing that his father was doing... Keeping murderers off the streets.

 

Steve finished off another slice of pizza and let his father toss the leftover slices into the fridge.  He managed to prop himself back into the wheelchair and make his way down to Mary’s old room by himself.  The room was much different than he remembered it. 

 

The girlish posters of teenage pop stars and young actors were gone and the walls were now a clean sea of off-white paint.  Mary’s twin bed had been replaced with a queen mattress topped in a ocean grey duvet. The old dresser was no longer topped with trinkets and shells, but extra toiletries and towels.

 

Steve explored the room and then stopped by the bed where his father had set his canvas bag.  Steve fished out the pill bottle from his seabag, shook out a small white pill into his palm, and swallowed it dry before tossing the orange bottle onto the dresser top.  Steve peeled off his shirt and hopped over to the bed. He pulled back the sheets, laid down, stuffed a pillow under his knee and fell quickly asleep to the waves crashing on the sand.

  
  


When Steve woke up it was dark outside.  The digital clock on the nightstand shone 3:47.  He had slept for nearly twelve hours. His leg itched like no other and Steve tried to scratch at the skin of his thigh just under the plaster.  That’s when he heard voices coming from the kitchen.

 

“Ken, I’ll meet you in the lobby in half an hour,” his father’s voice was muffled from the walls, but Steve knew his father must have caught a case.

 

Steve groaned as he sat up and his body protested.  The flight had made him stiff and achy. Steve hopped awkwardly into the wheelchair and quietly made his way into the kitchen using the light from the open doorway to guide himself around the furniture.

 

His dad was leaning against the countertop as the old coffeemaker hissed and sputtered.  Steve could smell the biter aroma from where he sat in the hallway. He wasn’t sure if he should enter the kitchen and talk to his dad, or stay where he was, but his stomach made the decision for him as it rumbled angrily.

 

His father turned around and saw Steve lurking in the hallway.  He sighed and entered the kitchen.

 

“Did my phone wake you up?”  His dad asked. He looked apologetic.

 

“No, the flight just has my schedule all messed up,” Steve shrugged.

 

“Right,” John said.  “I caught a case and have to go.  I’m sorry about our plans.”

 

“Dad, it’s fine.  You have to work; we can always reschedule.  I’m just going to hang out on the beach today,” Steve told his dad.

 

“I’m still sorry, Steve.  Do you want breakfast?” his dad asked.  “I can make some pancakes or something?”

 

“No, thanks.  I’ll have some fruit later.  Just coffee for now,” Steve said.

 

“If you’re sure... I could make some pancakes really quickly,” John offered again.

 

“I’m sure, dad.  Just coffee.”

 

His father nodded and went about making the coffee.  Steve smiled. This was the closest thing he had come to having a normal leave since he had joined the Navy.

 

Steve stirred in a chunk of butter, to his father’s disgust, and took a long sip of the hot Kona coffee.  He groaned as the bitter taste hit his taste buds.

 

“God, that’s good,” he said.  After months of stale coffee from the military, freshly ground, home grown coffee was one of the best things he had tasted.  It was up there with real hawaiian pizza.

 

“With the butter?”  

 

“What?”  Steve argued, “It helps brain function and boosts energy.”

 

His father arched an eyebrow and shook his head.  John grabbed his wallet and keys before turning to his son.

 

“Call me if you need anything.  The number’s on the fridge. Mrs. Chiba next door said you’re always welcome,” John said.

 

“Auntie Haruna?”  Steve asked. 

 

The elderly widow had lived nextdoor to the McGarrett’s since before Steve was born.  She had given him and Mary cookies whenever they stopped by after school and on the weekends.  She had also fed the family in the months after his mother’s death before his father had sent them away to the mainland.  The woman must be in her eighties by now. Steve smiled at the memories he had of the old lady.

 

“Yes, but be warned.  I’m sure she’ll try to feed you about a pound of baked goods if you go over there,” John smiled.  “I’ve got to head out, but I should be home by noon. Ken is trying to get Officer Doi and Sergeant Harada to take over the case.”

 

“Dad, don’t worry about it.  I’ll be here for at least a month,” Steve assured his father.  He knew the Navy might make him stay on base once he started with Intel, but for now he was home.

 

“Ok, Steve.  Rest. Don’t do anything stupid,” his dad warned.  Steve smirked. His dad knew him too well.

 

“I won’t,” Steve promised his dad.

 

“You better not,” his dad said pointedly.  “Call me if you need anything… and I mean anything.”

 

“Go, Dad.  I’ll be fine,” Steve said over his coffee.

 

John smiled and left the room.  Steve heard the telltale rumbling of the Marquis ignition starting.  He sat in the kitchen and sipped on his coffee in peace.

  
  


Steve sat out on the lanai and watched in the sunrise with coffee in one hand and fresh cut fruit in a bowl resting on his lap.  He took in the sound of the waves crashing on his beach, the smell of salt and flowers in the humid air, and sight of the dark sky turning to a wash of purples,reds, and yellows.  God, home was beautiful. It was odd being back at his childhood home, but he felt better than he had in weeks sitting out on the lanai.

 

“Steven McGarrett, is that you?”  a voice called from the gap in the trees and shrubs that separated his house and Auntie Haruna’s house.

 

“Auntie!” Steve smiled at the elderly woman who limbered over with the help of a wooden cane.  She was holding a brown paper bag in her free hand.

 

“Oh, Steven,” Haruna Chiba tisked when she took in Steve’s state.  The deeper scratches on his face had scabbed over, but were still pretty visible.  He had large yellow bruises that were almost faded all over his bare arms and uncasted leg.  The white cast made him look worse than he actually was.

 

“Auntie!  It’s nice to see you,” Steve greeted the woman and pulled her down for a hug.

 

“When your father told me you were injured, I was very worried,” she said to Steve, her small hands turning Steve’s face between her hands and tutting at the scratches.

 

“Oh, I’m fine.  It looks worse than it is, Auntie.”

 

“Oh, you’re just like your father,” Mrs. Chiba smiled down at him.  “I brought you some food. Your favorites.”

 

She opened the paper bag and pulled out a container of macadamia nut cookies, a container of fluffy pastries, and a final container with what looked like some type of casserole.

 

“Thank you, Auntie.  You shouldn’t have,” Steve smiled.  He was going to be fat by the time he left his father’s place.  The pizza. The baked goods. The shaved ice he knew his father was going to bring home, just like he used to do when Steve was sick as a kid.  That and the limited physical activity he was doing was ensuring he was going to gain a few pounds. 

 

“Nonsense, keiki,” Mrs. Chiba waved her hand.  Steve knew there was no arguing with his elderly neighbor.  The elderly neighbor had grown up in Japan, moved to Honolulu where she spent time in the Sand Island camp during the war her sons were fighting for the US in, and was just about as stubborn as they come.

 

“So, how have you been?”

 

“Ah, I’m alright for an old lady,” the shrugged.  “My hip’s been stiff.”

 

“Hmm, and Joey?”  Steve asked. Joey Chiba was Mrs. Chiba’s wild-child grandson who went to school with Steve.  Last time Steve had seen Joey the boy was involved with some bad groups.

 

“Joseph… Joseph moved to the mainland after college.  He is getting married next year,” Haruna Chiba beamed.  So Joey Chiba had escaped his excessive drug and alcohol use, went to school, and is getting married.  Steve would have pegged him as washed up amature surfer turned gang member, not a successful college graduate.

 

“Laura just finished her third semester at Boston University.  She’s studying Biochemistry.”

 

“Smart girl,” Steve said.  Laura must be Joey’s little sister.  Steve could faintly remember the little girl running around with Mary when she was over at her grandmother’s house.

 

“Yes, we are very proud of her.  Are you here for long?” 

 

“A few months.  I’ve been transferred to Pearl until I can go back to active duty,” Steve told the elderly lady who had sat down next to him and pulled out a stack of worn cards.

 

“That’s nice.  Your dad has been so alone.”  Steve didn’t reply. “I trust you remember how to play Daifugo?”

 

Steve played the traditional Japanese card game for hours with the talkative old lady.  The pair had polished off the container of macadamia nut cookies and a half pitcher of pineapple juice Mrs. Chiba had brought over during a break when Steve snuck away to the bathroom.

 

The elderly neighbor left Steve on his own a little after ten in the morning, telling him to stop by whenever he wanted to.  He had a hunch that his father asked the elderly woman to keep Steve company for the morning. Steve rolled inside and sat on the couch.  There was an old marathon of MASH on the TV that Steve fell asleep to after a few episodes.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another filler chapter... I don't know what I'm doing with this fic. Next chapter will definitely be the first date and probably the last chapter

March 10th rolled in with wind and rain that pelted the glass window panes.  Steve found it a calming start to his twenty fifth birthday. The weather station had warned that the tropical storm passing south of the islands was going to push rain and heavy winds into the island chain for most of the day.

 

His father had planned a quiet day for the pair.  He had taken the day off from work and had instructed all of his calls to be rerouted to other officers.  Steve wasn’t up from a whole island tour, but a trip to the Wailana Coffee House was planned for breakfast.  Steve’s father had also planned a relaxing afternoon in their living room and a complete barbeque for dinner.

  
  
  


He had been living in t-shirts and boardshorts since he had gotten back to the states.  The shirts were kind of tight, especially since they were from before Steve joined the Navy… and finished puberty, but the rest of his civvies were stuffed in a closet at Freddie Hart’s parents place in Virginia.  His father offered to pick up some new clothes for Steve, but Steve politely declined. He didn’t mind looking like a beach bum until he could fit his leg into a normal pair of pants. 

 

He was starting to feel like a beach bum though. 

 

His father had been busy the entire week working a case linked to the Triads, so Steve was stuck sitting around his back yard most days.  He didn’t mind, but the lack of activity and purpose quickly drove his boredom. His boredom drove his increasing fascination with doing small repair jobs around the house.  He had already replaced the leaky faucet in the downstairs bathroom, fixed the stuck window that wouldn’t open in the kitchen, and made a new window box to replace the one that had its bottom nearly rot off.

 

He was currently working on sanding and repainting the outside chairs.  He knew he had to stop soon and get ready for his trip to physical therapy.  His father had left him the Marquis and took out an old blue and white to get to work.  It was odd for Steve to be driving his father’s beloved car, but anything was better than taking a cab or calling his dad back from work to drive him.

 

He checked his watch and saw the small numbers through the glare of the sun, 13:11.  If he was going to make it to his 2 o’clock appointment, he had to head inside, clean up, and get on his way.  The traffic was always unpredictable on the island. Some days it took him less than fifteen minutes to make the drive, but other days it could take two or three times as long.

 

Steve sighed and pulled himself into a standing position with the crutches he leaned on the unused chair.  He had finally been allowed to use the pair of metal crutches by the doctors at Tripler, but with the crutches came physical therapy.  The multiple trips to his appointed therapist left Steve exhausted and frustrated. His left shoulder was weak and the exercises he had to do were a lot harder than he had expected them to be.  He was dreading the day when he started to rehab his leg. He knew the weeks of sleeping in, not eating the healthiest foods, and being forced to refrain from any physical activity that he used to enjoy.

  
  


His physical therapist, Hiromi, was a nice woman, but she probably could have given some of his old COs a run for their money.  Her ability to push him into doing one more set with the resistance bands or add another small weight to his abductions was truly mesmerizing.  Steve hated the way therapy made him feel. His body had failed him. He hadn’t dealt with this before.

 

When Steve arrived at the office, the waiting room was full.  Not a single chair was open, so Steve leaned against the wall and waited for his name to be called.  It shouldn’t be long.

 

“Sir, you can take my chair,” a young teen offered.  Steve smiled at the girl and slowly maneuvered into the office room chair.

 

“Mahalo.”

 

“No problem, brah,” she said back to him and went back to her magazine.  Steve sat in the uncomfortable chair and picked at the cracking foam hand pad on his crutch.

 

“McGarrett, Steven?”  he heard one of the nurses call.  Steve hobbled over to the door and made his way into the private room.  Hiromi sat in her chair and was flipping through his file.

 

“Ah, Ensign McGarrett, sit, please,” she welcomed him.

 

“Steve, please,” Steve reminded her like he did every visit.

 

“Steve,” she smiled.  “May I?” She gestured at Steve’s shoulder.

 

Steve nodded.  Hiromi ran her hands along the joint and surrounding muscles.  She had him lift his arm and rotate the joint.

 

“I think you’ve made some really good progress so far.  Have you been doing your exercises?”

 

“Yes, morning and night.  I also try to do some stretches midday,” Steve said.

 

“Good.  Any problems?”

 

“No,” Steve said honestly.

 

“Have you been icing and using heat to relax the muscle?’

 

Steve nodded.  On days when he used the crutches a lot, he would have to ice the joint, but sometimes he had to use hot water bottles and heating pads to relax the stiff muscles.

 

“Great,” Hiromi said.  “I think we can start scheduling our sessions to once a week if you promise to keep up your exercises and call the office if anything feels odd?”

 

“I promise,” Steve smiled.

 

“I’ll hold you to that promise.  One step backwards and you’ll be back here four times a week,” Hiromi warned him.  “I’ve been speaking with your orthopedist. We both agree that the bones have healed enough to downgrade to a below the knee cast soon.  When this happens, we will have to start strengthening the muscles in your thigh and knee.”

 

“Ok, when are we talking?”  Steve asked. He really wanted the cast gone completely, but the downgrade would make his life easier.

 

“Maybe two or three weeks.  Your next x-ray will help us decide when,” Hiromi told him.  Steve frowned. He had hoped to be in a smaller cast before the gala.  Trying to fit into his dress uniform, let alone dance, was going to be a disaster.

 

“I know,” She acknowledged his frown.  “However, with the location of breaks along the bones, moving the knee joint right now could compromise the healing bones.”

 

Steve nodded in understanding.  He wasn’t going to compromise going back to the SEALs in order to get rid of his cast a few weeks early.

 

“I’ll be in contact with your orthopedist, and once your cast is removed, I will start to schedule your new PT appointments.”

 

“Thank you, I will be in New York for a few days at the beginning of April,” Steve told her.  His flight to New York was booked and the rest of his meetings were rescheduled. He had an old friend from Annapolis that was going to pick him up and drive him to West Point for the gala.

 

“That’s fine.  As long as you keep your routine, I don’t see what harm missing an appointment or two will do.”

  
  


By the time Steve realized it, March was coming to a close and crowds of people were swarming the island for spring break and easter.  Steve had talked with his temporary CO and set up a date for his first day back in Naval Intelligence. His CO, Lieutenant Anne Rasmussen, had been put in charge of a small group of analysts, linguists, and other specialists that were focusing on weapons trading and financial support for the Taliban coming from Tajikistan. 

 

Steve also hadn’t realized that he was going to have to figure out a solution to his uniform problems.  He had pulled out his dress blues earlier that week and found that the tailored pant leg wasn’t going to be able to stretch over the bulky cast.

 

“Steve?  You home?”  His father called from the front door.  Steve was laying on ‘his’ bed in Mary’s old room.  He had bought several pairs of black dress pants in hopes that one would fit and be an acceptable replacement for the regulation pair, but each pair was either too baggy everywhere else, too tight, or the wrong color black.

 

“In here!” He called back.

 

“What are you doing?”  His father asked him smiling at the sight in front of him.  His son was lying in defeat on the bed, wearing his full dress blues sans pants.  The formal jacket paired with boxers and the white cast was bizarre, to say the least.

 

“Nothing fits,” Steve grumbled.  “I can’t wear board shorts to a military gala.”

 

Steve groaned again and his father laughed.  

 

“Kid, we’ll work something out,” John said and leaned against the dresser.  “Now, what’s wrong with all of these pairs?”

 

“The regulation pair is too tight and I can’t get it over this fucking cast!”  Steve pointed to the plaster monstrocity. John raised an eyebrow at Steve’s small tantrum.

 

“And the rest?”

 

“These are too baggy everywhere else.  These are the wrong fit. These are the wrong shade of black.  And… These,” Steve held up the last pair, “despite the tag saying they’re a 32, are way too short.”

 

“Steve, this isn’t that big of a deal.  When do you leave for New York?”

 

“April 4th.  Why?” Steve eyed his father.  He could see the man thinking up a plan.  His father was looking out the window with a far away gaze and his hands on his waist.

 

“It’ll be close, but I think I can pull some strings,” John McGarrett said.  

 

“What?”

 

“One of the guys in narcotics has a kid at UH Manoa that’s studying fashion design.  I might be able to call in a favor and have one of those,” he pointed at the pile of pants on the bed, “tailored to fit.”

 

Steve smiled.  He hadn’t thought of going to a tailor. 

 

“Thanks, dad,” Steve told the man who nodded.  

 

“I’ll go call Cattaneo,” the detective said.  “I just hope his kid is as good as he’s always saying.”

  
  


Joseph Cattaneo was an odd kid in Steve’s mind.  Well, he wasn’t really a kid. He was only a few years younger than Steve was, maybe about twenty one.  Joseph was the exact opposite of every young person Steve had interacted with in the past ten years… meaning he was nothing like anyone in the military.  The unruly dyed long hair, the facial piercings, and the platform boots strapped to the young man’s feet made Steve uncertain if he would end up with military approved dress pants or a punk rock-esque zoot suit.

 

“Aloha!  You McGarrett?”  Joseph asked when he saw Steve hobble into the mostly empty studio at the University of Hawaii Manoa. 

 

“Just Steve,” he corrected.  “Are you Joseph?”

 

“Yeah, man.  What can I do for ya?  My dad was pretty vague,” Joseph shrugged.

 

“I’m going to an Army-Navy gala next weekend and my uniform pants don’t fit over the cast,” Steve said.

 

“Ah,” Joseph said and looked down at the cast.  For a second Steve thought he was going to ask questions about the injury, but the fashion student just nodded.  “Are we talking a new pair or just making alterations to an existing pair?”

 

“The pair I have is way too tight to fit over the cast.  I doubt you could alter them that drastically,” Steve said honestly.

 

“Ok, so let’s start from scratch.  Did you bring yours” Joseph asked.

 

“Uh, yeah, just a sec,” Steve said and transferred his crutches into his left hand.  He swung the old backpack off his shoulders and handed it over to Joseph.

 

“Here, sit down if you want,” Joseph pulled over a worn chair from a work table.

 

“Mahalo,” Steve smiled and sank into the chair.

 

“No worries,” Joseph said as he examined the trousers.

 

“These definitely won’t work,” the design student tisked.  “When do you need the new ones by?”

 

“April 3rd,” Steve said nervously.  That would give Joseph less than five days to finish the pants.  Steve knew a normal tailor would be able to do the pants in a day at most, but Joseph was a student who probably had classes and other projects that left him with little time to help Steve.

 

“Ok, I think we can swing it,” Joseph said.

 

“That’s great, brah,” Steve said reverting to his ‘island’ vocabulary.

 

“I’m going to take your measurements today and go out and buy some fabric.  Do you mind if I keep these for reference?” He held up Steve’s dress blues.

 

“No, go ahead,” Steve said.

 

“Ok, do you think you can stand up for me?” Joseph asked nervously.  It was an awkward conversation.

 

“Yeah,” Steve hauled himself out of the chair with the help of the crutches.  He stood still as Joseph wrapped his measuring tape around Steve and wrote down the numbers.

 

“Alright, I’ve got everything,” Joseph stood up from measuring Steve’s lower legs.  He helped Steve sit back into the chair and leaned against the opposite work table.

 

“I’ll have them done on Monday or Tuesday.  I’ll have my dad call yours?” He asked smiling at the ridiculousness of the situation.  Two ‘adult’ men communicating with one another through their aging fathers.

 

“That’s fine,” Steve shrugged.  It frankly wasn’t the oddest thing within the past month.  “Mahalo, Joseph.”

 

“It’s the least I could do,” Joseph said.  He didn’t go further than that, and for that, Steve was thankful.  Too many people had wanted to hear what happened. Too many people treated him like a hero.  That honor was for men who risked their lives to save others. That wasn’t this mission in his mind.

  
  


As promised, John McGarrett had brought home a new pair of dress uniform pants that were perfectly altered to fit around the cast.  When Steve tried them on, Steve was surprised to see that he could barely tell there was a giant cast on his right leg. The fit of the pants was almost identical to the original pair and Steve sighed in relief.

 

Steve neatly packed the uniform, complete with ribbons and his cover, and put it with the rest of the clothes he packed for the trip.  Early April in the New York could provide any sort of weather. The forecast was saying that a cold, rainy week was ahead of him, meaning that he was stuck in loose fitting cargos for the week.  Jeans didn’t fit and shorts were out of the question in that climate. He hoped Catherine wouldn’t mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man. Have I been busy. I got a new job and had to find a new flat and everything. I've been swamped.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is my last chapter for this fic. I might do an epilogue in a few weeks, but I have a new idea for a fic that's eating away at my brain. I can't ignore it for much longer, so I'm capping this one here and I might do a one-shot or epilogue of Steve/Cath's relationship later on. I don't really ship them that often, but the relationship works and is a major part of Steve's canon and character development.

West Point was buzzing with activity.  The yearly Army-Navy gala was always paired with the Army-Navy football game, but an additional dance was added this year because of 9/11 and the start of the war.  The schools saw it as a way to raise morale. Because of this, dozens of alumni from West Point and the Naval Academy had been invited.

 

Steve stood outside the doors dressed in his dark uniform waiting for Catherine.  Students and officers milled around inside the building, all dressed in uniform and long dresses.  The music was barely heard from the voices and laughter. Steve relaxed.

 

“Ensign McGarrett,” a stern voice called from his left.  Steve’s immediate response was to stand up straighter. 

 

He heard a femmine laugh and cautiously looked to his left.  Catherine was walking toward him in full Navy dress blues. Steve didn’t think the uniform was the most flattering thing for women, but Catherine looked gorgeous in it.  Steve smiled back at her.

 

“Lieutenant Rollins,” Steve saluted her.  She laughed at him.

 

“Steve, it’s nice to see you,” She said and hugged him gently.  Steve wrapped his arms around her slender frame and gave her a firm hug.  Steve felt her head rest just over the scarred bullet wound in his shoulder.

 

“Hi, Cath,” he said and let her go.

 

“You’re looking better than I thought you would be,” Catherine said, her eyes roaming down Steve’s body.

 

“Yeah, well, I had some help,” Steve shrugged.  “You look beautiful.”

 

“Thank you,” Catherine blushed.  “Shall we go inside, sailor?”

 

Steve grabbed his crutches from the bench his had leaned them against and smiled, “After you.”

  
  


The Army-Navy gala was a strange night.  It wasn’t just a dance, but dinner and speeches too.  Steve and Catherine had been sat at table with other younger servicemen and women.  Steve and Catherine had laughed throughout the dinner. She poked fun at his ‘fat’ leg and he laughed along with her.  

 

“Steve?”  Catherine asked.

 

“Yeah?” 

 

“How long are you going to be stateside?”

 

“A few months… why?”

 

“No reason,” Catherine said.  Steve could hear the disappointment in her voice.

 

“Alright, want to dance?”  Steve smiled and held out his hand the Catherine.

 

“Sure,” Catherine said and allowed herself to be pulled along by Steve who had sacrificed his crutch for the sake of dancing.  He guided her to the outside of the dance floor of couples and took her in his arms.

 

“Cath, do you remember the first time we came to this?”  Steve asked.

 

Catherine snorted gracelessly.  “How can I forget? You asked that awful girl from town as your date.”

 

“Ugh,” Steve groaned.  “She got so drunk and I had to drive her back home.  She vomited all over my pants.”

 

Catherine laughed.  “I tried to get you to ask me.”

 

“You did?”  Steve asked surprised.

 

“I did,” she affirmed.

 

“I thought you wanted to go with Swanny,” Steve said.

 

“No, I just wanted to make you jealous so you would ask me before someone else did.  It obviously didn’t work.”

 

“If I had known,” Steve raised an eyebrow at her.  Steve laughed and awkwardly swayed in one spot. Without the crutches, Steve was stuck in one spot.  The hobble to this sport was far enough.

 

“I’m glad you finally asked,” she told Steve.

 

“Me too, I’ve had a good time so far.”

 

“So far?” Catherine asked with a raised eyebrow.

 

“As long as you don’t vomit on me,” Steve poked fun at Catherine.  Catherine slapped his arm.

 

“I’ll have you know that Swanny is around here somewhere.  I can go find him,” Catherine warned. Steve scowled and pulled Catherine in for a strong hug.

 

“Then I’ll have to remind him about San Diego,” Steve whispered in her ear.

 

“You wouldn’t,” Catherine warned him.  Steve laughed and the pair swayed with the music.

 

“Cath?” Steve asked.

 

“What?”

 

“Do you ever miss civilian life?”  Catherine’s head shot up and she looked into Steve’s eyes.

 

“What do you mean, Steve?”

 

“Do you miss civilian life?”

 

“I don’t know.  Sometimes,” Cath shrugged.  “Why?”

 

“I don’t know,” Steve shrugged.  “I… being home with my dad. It’s just…” Steve trailed off.

 

Catherine understood.

 

“Yeah, I know.  The Navy is my life, but sometimes I miss being normal.  I miss spending time with my parents and family, but I couldn’t imagine not being in the Navy, you know?”

 

Steve nodded.  “I’m happy I’ve had time to be with my dad, but I miss my team.”

 

“How is your dad?”  Catherine asked carefully.  Steve had always been vague about his relationship with his family.

 

“He’s good.  He’s busy,” Steve shrugged.

 

“That’s good.  Have you talked with Mary and your aunt?”

 

“No, I made my dad promise not to tell them,” Steve said.  Catherine frowned. “Mary needs to focus on her own problems and Aunt Deb worries too much as it is.”

 

“Steve,” Catherine guided his face down with her palm so that their eyes met.  “You should call them.”

 

“I know, but I can’t, alright,” Steve sighed.

 

“You can.  They’re your family,” Catherine said.  Catherine didn’t understand. She was close with her family.  When they were in school her parents and younger siblings often came to visit and sent care packages.  How could she understand how his family worked?

 

“I know, but it’s complicated,” Steve told her.  He could see Catherine frown, so he smiled at her.  “I’ll work it out.”

 

The pair swayed and talked for a few songs before Catherine could see the lines on Steve’s face deepen.  She coaxed him back to their table with the promise of finding some drinks.

  
  


“Smooth Dog?  That you?” A thickly accented voice called from behind him.  Steve turned to see Paul Swann, ‘Swanny’, dragging another chair toward their table.

 

“Swanny!  Howzit?” Steve greeted the shorter man.  He had known Paul since his time at the Army-Navy Academy in California.  The man looked like he hadn't changed in the decade that Steve had known him.  Paul had always been tall, lanky, and suspiciously pale since Steve had known him.  All the hours out in the sun had bleached the man’s close cropped hair nearly white, but his skin was still pasty white and unblemished, something a teenaged Steve was jealous of.

 

“I’m good, man.  Really good. You?”  Swanny asked and leaned back in his chair.  It sounded like he still hadn’t managed to kick the distinctive Louisiana twang.

 

“I’m alright,” Steve shrugged.  “Haven’t seen you in a while. What are you up to these days?”

 

“I’m stationed in Norfolk right now.  I heard you’ve been busy,” Paul smiled and nodded to the crutches Steve had been trying to hide all night long by propping them against the table behind them.

 

“Yeah, HALO jump went FUBAR,” Steve shrugged.  He couldn’t give his old friend any more of an explanation than that.  Classified.

 

“Always hated those,” Paul shivered.  Steve remembered that vividly. Paul was always a mess during the hours leading up to a jump, the man hated heights.  It was one of the few reasons Paul hadn’t followed Freddie and Steve into BUD/s.

 

“So, you here with someone?” Paul changed the subject.

 

“Uh, yeah, she’s just going to find us some drinks,” Steve said.  He wanted to let Catherine surprise the other sailor. “You?”

 

“Nah, my girlfriend couldn’t get off work… Nurse,” Swanny explained.

 

“That sucks, man.  Anyone else here?”

 

“I think I saw Annie Scott on the other side of the hall.  Maybe Tanner Dix as well.” Paul said. Neither of the two were really close to Steve.  They had talked a little bit at the Academy, but didn’t really hang out too much.

 

“Swanny!”  Catherine called once she saw who Steve was talking to.  She quickly handed off their drinks to Steve and gave Paul a tight hug.  “I haven’t seen you in ages!”

 

“Hi, Cath!”  Paul smiled. “It’s been too long.”

 

“Wait…” Paul’s smile widened as he glanced between his two friends.  “Ohhh Smooth Dog!”

 

Steve’s face reddened a little and he laughed it off.  “Paul, meet my date.”

 

“Good Lord Above!  You two finally realized it!”  Paul laughed. 

 

“Apparently all it took for him to realize it was a near death experience in a hostile country,” Catherine sent a glance over to Steve whose face is still red.

 

“I thought it would never happen,” Paul mumbled and received a good-natured swat to his head.  “But… I’m glad it did. I’ll leave you two alone,” Paul added hastily and hurried off, not wanting to be a third wheel.

 

“God, he hasn’t changed at all, has he,” Catherine exclaimed.

 

“I swear he doesn’t age,” Steve laughed.  “Looked the exact same at sixteen as he does now.”  He took a sip of the champagne Catherine had brought back for them and took her hand in his.

She squeezed back.

 

They sat close to one another and watched the other couples dance.  They poked fun at the ‘young’ students trying to figure out what they were supposed to be doing with their dates.  They reminisced and laughed until couples started to file out of the hall and back to their cars.

 

“Steve?” Catherine asked from where she sat leaning into his side.

 

“Hm?” He hummed.  The alcohol had hit him harder than he had expected it to.  

 

“Let’s get out of here?” Catherine asked.

 

“Yeah,” Steve smiled and let her slide out from under his heavy arm.  He also let her tug him to his feet and hand him his crutches. God how he hated those things.  “One thing first.”

 

He pulled Catherine toward him gently and dropped his lips to hers.  They were soft and warm. Steve ran his fingers along her pulled back hair and could feel her fingers tugging on his lapels to deepen the kiss.  It was better than he had imagined it was going to be with her. It felt right.

 

“You can’t drive,” Catherine smiled at him when they finally pulled apart.  

 

“Come on,” she said as she took in the awkward stuffle-hop he had resorted to in his inebriated state.  “I have a room. I’ll drive.”

 

She guided him to her rental, which was thankfully a SUV with lots of legroom and helped him into the passenger’s side.  The drive probably took less than fifteen minutes and soon Steve found himself seated on the bed of Catherine’s hotel room.

 

“I don’t mind,” She assured him from the bathroom where she was getting ready for bed.

 

“You sure?” He called back.  He didn’t really do this on first dates.

 

“Yes.”

 

Steve shrugged and stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and settled under the sheets.  He’d be comfortable enough to sleep in those. Lord knows he’s slept in much worse… in horrible places… with horrible people.  Sharing a bed, in underclothes, with Catherine was just fine with him.

 

Catherine turned out the lights and Steve felt the other side of the bed dip as Catherine got in.  He could feel the mattress shift and the sheets tug with her every movement. The alcohol made everything hazy, but Steve smiled as he felt Catherine shuffle closer towards him.  He met her halfway and wrapped his arm around her.

 

“This ok?”  She asked sleepily.

 

“Perfect,” he smiled in the dark.

 

“Steve?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“Can we do this again sometime?  I had fun,” Steve’s heart leapt.

 

“Me too,” he said honestly and ran a thumb absentmindedly down her upper arm, “let’s do dinner.”

 

"So, you slept with her on your first date?" Danny asked with a smile on his face.

 

"No," Steve glared back.  "Not technically."

 

"Whatever," Danny rolled his eyes,  "Did you ever make it to dinner?"

 

"You know what," Steve turned to Danny, "I don't think we ever did."

 

"Really?"

 

"No.  I went back to Pearl, and she was deployed to the Gulf.  I eventually rejoined my team a few months later."

 

"Babe," Danny sighed.

 

"Yeah, I know.  I'm a disaster at relationships," Steve shrugged, accepting the fact.  "We talked a lot and met up a few times a year if we were near one another, but we never made it to dinner."

 

"Horn-dog," Danny accused.  He knew exactly why they didn't make it to dinner.  His partner was a monster.

 

"Hey!"  Steve argued back.  "It wasn't always my fault!"

 

"Ah, yes!  Blame poor little Catherine!" Danny scolded.  "You forget that I know Catherine!" Danny shook his finger at Steve.  "That was all you."

 

"Danno!" Steve whined.  He knew this would rile Danny.  It always did.

"Don't Danno me, Steven!"  Danny ranted, face reddening, "You're an animal."  


 

Fin?

 

 


End file.
